


A Summer Away

by orphan_account



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Academia, Adventure, Alternate History, Alternate Universe, And Copious Geeking Out About It, Author Butchers Canon Timeline for Fun, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, No Cersei/Jaime, No professor/student stuff I should probably specify, Recovery, Time Travel, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-06-02 11:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 114,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19440841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A few weeks ago, all Brienne Tarth really had to worry about was not going broke in her last year of graduate school and Professor Lannister’s inconvenient research trip to Lannisport. She didn’t anticipate having to care for the recently injured and infamous Jaime Lannister, much less being pulled into a one-hundred year old conspiracy.





	1. Chapter 1

284 AC - TARTH & THE NARROW SEA

Fire blazed in the place where the town had stood just hours before; stretching from seashore upwards into the hills of Tarth where the buildings thinned and the trees began. Brienne had never seen such a terrible sight in all her life.

Her father’s arm wrapped around her shoulder, pulling her to his side. He tucked his jacket around her, covering her head with it so she could not look out to the side. In the darkness, the chaos and the shouting of soldiers across the ship, the shrieks and bangs coming from the island faded into the distance. They were merely a dull roar underneath the pounding of blood in her ears.

Her father must have been talking, she could feel his deep voice vibrating in his chest. But she couldn’t hear what he was saying. She wanted to, so badly, to understand why any of this was happening. Why anyone would attack their island, her home, where on earth her mother had gone in the chaos, whether or not baby Galladon and his nurse were anywhere near them.

She hadn’t seen any of them since dinner the night before. She only understood that one of her father’s guards had retrieved her from her room. She had gone to bed late, too eager to finish her book to sleep, she had fallen asleep on top of it and briefly wondered if she were going to be in trouble for doing so.

But her father’s guard had bid her be quiet and taken her down a narrow passageway in the big old house where she had been told not to go by her nurse. Something about how easy it would be for a young girl like her to get lost down there. Brienne was utterly dismayed to discover that her nurse had been right; the tunnels were confusing and terrifying and somehow they ended up down near the docks that she usually had to run all the way down the town to reach.

She hadn’t wanted her nurse to be right. Her nurse said all sorts of horrible things that Brienne had taken to hoping that the older woman was just very stupid. It seemed, unfortunately, that it wasn’t a possibility.

Her father had been standing on the docks, ordering soldiers around. Never in her life had she imagined there were so many warriors on the island, but now they were spilling out of the cracks. He was stern and serious, and shouting, a tone he rarely took with her but she knew to be scared to hear it.

His face broke out into momentary relief when he saw her. “Get her on the —“

There was a terrible sound, loud and booming. Then the noise repeated, one, two, three more times, the echoes of each preceding on making the other all the louder. When she turned to see what on earth had happened, flames were spreading along the top of the ridge, where she might be able to see Evenfall if it were daytime.

“Sir,” the guard began. “You must go.”

Her father had nodded and scooped her up into his arms. Her head collided painfully with his shoulder, her arms and legs were all bent in the wrong positions to be comfortable, but he wasted no time to adjust her.

At the end of the dock, they had stepped onto a boat and were frantically waved downstairs. When her father deposited her onto the bench, the boat was already moving away from the dock. And she had gotten a proper look around only to find that they were not on one of the larger, proper boats, but a small boat like the one her uncle took her fishing on last summer.

It even smelled like fish down here. And smoke. She had thought as her father sat down beside her and pulled her away from the window.

“What’s happening?” She asked finally, her voice muffled against her father’s shirt. She wasn’t even sure he heard her.

But his arm tightened around her shoulders. “You must be very still, and very quiet, Brienne. You’ll be all right, the soldiers will get us out of this but you have to stay out of their way.”

His voice sounded wrong, quiet and uncertain like he was asking her a question even as he told her what to do. She didn’t understand it, any of it, but how he sounded drummed up such a scary feeling that she wished he would just stop talking.

“Where’s Mother? Where’s Galladon?” The feeling was beginning to choke her, tearing welling up in her eyes and closing her throat.

Her father didn’t answer, simply holding her tighter and shushing her, continuing it for so long that when he was called away, at last, her home was just a faint orange glow on the horizon.

Tarth, burning, was the only light between the dark sky and sea. It was a picture she would see for the rest of her life when she dreamt.

MARCH, 300 AC - KING’S LANDING

The clicking of the typewriter’s keys and the splattering of raindrops against the window just in front of Brienne’s desk were nearly identical, blending together, distinguishable only by the chime that sounded when she reached the end of a line. There was something sleepy about the afternoon despite the fierce storm beyond the window, and she was finding it hard to concentrate on proofreading as she typed.

The cityscape of rusty-red rooftops turned a darker brown from the rain was dreary in a way that Brienne thought was rather nice, in contrast to the warm yellow light spilling from her desk lamp. She kept staring out at it over the pile of books stacked haphazardly behind the typewriter, thinking of nothing in particular.

“What are you doing?”

Brienne spun in her chair as the ancient, wooden door leading into their office creaked open, revealing her sister, Arya. She was a short, slight girl of nineteen, whose stature made her look at least three years younger. And she looked even smaller framed by the huge doorway, leaning against the heavy door. She was holding two mugs in one hand and inspecting a sword held in her other.

Brienne sighed, there were a fair number of places in the building where she might have stolen it from. Some of them were acceptable, some of them were not. “Where did you get it?”

“Lannister’s office, he’s gone somewhere and left it unlocked,” Arya replied, sauntering over to the desk with a grace that should not have been granted to someone precariously balancing as many things in her hands. The mugs made it safely onto Brienne’s desk with a quiet thump, not a drop of the tea spilled on the old, ornate carpet.

Brienne accepted one of the mugs and turned back to her work, no longer very concerned about the sword. She and Arya used them often enough after hours and very much doubted their owner was unaware of that fact.

“Return it before he gets back, and don’t break any of Sansa’s things.” Brienne nodded to the desk littered with various knickknacks set against the other window.

Arya’s eyes lit up and she nodded, silently retreating to the middle of the room, leaving Brienne to her work. Brienne glanced over her shoulder to see her fumbling a bit with the hilt of the thing, getting used to a new grip, and smiled to herself.

Arya had come to stay with them in early winter, four months past, to attend school in the city. Like Brienne herself, Arya and her family had a difficult time during the war, truly the only good thing that came from it all for all of them was each other. Brienne, Sansa, Arya, and Bran, her father, the Starks’ mother, among the last standing in the aftermath. Brienne knew the haunted looks in her siblings’ faces from her own face. Arya was always the worst at hiding it, Bran was the best, and Sansa was the best at convincing herself things weren’t so bad.

It was a relief to see Arya finding her stride in King’s Landing when she had been so loath to leave their home in Wintertown for so long.

Brienne glanced down at her work, remembering the task that lay before her. She pulled a book from the bottom of her third pile, awkwardly balancing her hand against the others to stop them from tipping onto the floor. There wasn’t nearly enough space on her desk between the typewriter, notebook, and textbook; she hooked her foot in the armrest of her chair to hold the notebook between her leg and shoulder as she leaned forward.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

A familiar snort sounded from behind her. “Seven hells, Tarth, you’re going to break something if you keep it up.”

“Get us bigger tables, then.” Brienne retorted, leaning over the back of her chair to get a better look at him.

Tyrion Lannister was standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. He wore one of his ridiculously patterned sweaters, this one was deep red stitched with a tessellation of gold diamonds. He held a sheet covered in messy handwriting to his chest with ink-stained hands, looking troubled even as he needled her. “There’s not enough funding.”

“Take it out of Podrick’s salary,” Arya suggested, lowering her borrowed artifact to the ground, point first and leaning on it slightly. “Maybe he’ll learn to write legibly then,” She cast a significant glance at the notebook on Brienne’s lap. “Brie has been complaining about it for days.”

Tyrion glanced at her, seeming not to notice the sword at all. Brienne figured he must have noticed and simply didn’t care. It was likely given that she was often the one encouraging her boss-slash-advisor to be a bit more careful with their priceless documents and artifacts.

And in turn, Tyrion would snap at her about all the things he’d done in proximity to them. Most of them were terribly inappropriate to hear in a working relationship.

Tyrion sighed and set his paper aside, picking at the sleeve of his sweater. He seemed to be waiting for something, and it took Brienne entirely too long of a moment to realize that he was waiting on her. To ask him what was the matter, of course.

“Is there something I can do for you, Professor Lannister?”

Tyrion sighed. “So good of you to ask, Tarth. As a matter of fact, I have received an intriguing letter from my brother.”

Brienne waited for him to continue. Certainly, he couldn’t be dramatic enough to make her ask again.

“He’s asked me to come to Lannisport for the summer recess. Apparently, he believes there are things that may be of interest to me at the Rock.”

Brienne frowned. “Your brother, Jaime?”

Jaime Lannister was a well-known figure, and not quite for the right reasons. A while back he was highly suspected of, but pardoned in a murder trial for a powerful politician. Brienne remembered the story but not with any more specificity than it being a monumental moment in the post-war period, all potentially orchestrated by an eighteen-year-old boy.

It was one of the many things that made Tyrion’s family as infamous as they were.

“Yes,” Tyrion replied, tense and testy. “Anyways, I’d like you to accompany me.”

Brienne’s eyebrows shot up. “Me? I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Arya scoffed. “Brienne, it’s Lannisport, in Westerland. And you’ve just received an invitation to walk right in there.”

Of course, Arya had a good enough point. Lannisport and the eponymous Lannister family were things that people were generally encouraged to stay away from. And, though it was perfectly allowed to enter Westerland, the former kingdom of the Lannister’s— most people didn’t if they didn’t have to.

Tyrion himself had left home for university and looked back only once when the same brother now requesting their presence had nearly been killed in a car accident.

Brienne sighed. “I’ve got to work, Tyrion.”

She was fortunate in that she could receive her doctorate free of charge working with Tyrion and the university. But she had rent to think of, and groceries, and their electrical bill. It was costly enough, even splitting it with Sansa, Arya, and Podrick.

“You work for me.” Tyrion, the born-multimillionaire, with a secure job and income security to spare thanks to his surname— was utterly unsympathetic.

Brienne rolled her eyes and told him as much, and turned away, dismissing the idea completely.

“Couldn’t the Starks help you? God knows, old Ned had money coming out of his—“

“Tyrion,” Brienne cut off, with a sharp towards Arya. The girl was still leaning on the sword, but looking more and more inclined to use it as Tyrion continued.

“Right, sorry, Stark. But, Brienne,” Tyrion retrieves the letter from the side table where he had discarded it. “This could be everything we’ve been looking for five years.”

Brienne had begun working with Tyrion when he was a Ph.D. candidate himself, and she was an undergraduate. And all this time, Tyrion had not given up.

Never, in all that time, had he sounded so completely certain about a lead. His tone of cautious optimism and triumph sent a chill of excitement down her spine.

She couldn’t even tell herself she wasn’t painfully interested to find out what lay west ofCrownland. Only, she had been to Westerland once, and that, even more than being able to afford it, made her want to run in the opposite direction.

“All the same, it won’t pay my rent.”

Tyrion rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Sansa’s coming, you wouldn’t leave her to the mercy of my father and sister for over three months, would you?”

“Maybe they aren’t as bad, you have a flair for the dramatic.”

“Tarth, tell me you’re not implying that you think Tywin Lannister can be trusted with anything.”

Of course, Brienne didn’t think that, not that she knew him. But she knew enough people who had at one point or another.

“I’m saying that Sansa is a smart woman and you’re not giving her enough credit.”

“Hey, Lannister! What were you saying about me?” Sansa leaned into the room beside Tyrion. She appeared as though summoned by their having talked about her.

Though, Brienne realized she must have been listening in at the printer station outside their office.

“No, I’m trying to manipulate Tarth into feeling responsible for you and come with us.”

Sansa stepped around Tyrion into the room. She clutched a stack of paper to her chest, her pale grey skirt swirling around her knees as she moved. With her perfect curls pinned back over her ears, she looked perfect and professional. Her expression was one of polite displeasure at Tyrion’s behavior, like everything else about her, perfectly presentable.

“And now that we’re all aware of your situation, why don’t you let me handle the rest?” Sansa set her papers on the bookshelf beside the door, freeing her hands to push Tyrion out of the room and shut the door behind him firmly.

“Arya, why do you even have that in here? I thought we agreed, only in Podrick’s office where there isn’t anything breakable.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “He isn’t in today and he’s left the door locked, the idiot.”

*

Their apartment was a few blocks from the university campus in the heart of King’s Landing. It was nondescript, the same warm brown stucco walls and red clay roof as all the other buildings on the row. The building was old and woefully dysfunctional; water and electrical issues were beyond commonplace. Their apartment was at the very top, up six flights of rickety stairs that were the stuff of nightmares when they had first moved in nearly five years ago. It was truly a two bedroom apartment, with a small office. But as the office had become Podrick’s room, and Sansa’s room dividing in half with a curtain to make space for Arya, it became more and more cramped.

Now, a bathroom schedule for busy mornings was written in Sansa’s neat script and hung on the wall beside the bathroom door, and followed strictly.

Everything seemed to run on a well-oiled routine, and tonight was no different. They returned home in the early evening when Tyrion left the office declaring anyone who worked after four in the afternoon must be crazy. At home, Sansa and Arya sat at the tiny table beside the window in the kitchen, books spread out between them and both of them writing furiously. Brienne and Podrick, always the first to finish their work began making dinner.

Podrick was the best cook between the four of them, anyway. Brienne could hold her own and knew that her step-sisters were best kept away from the kitchen altogether.

There was some music playing in the background off Sansa’s table, the wordless and familiar tunes that she preferred to study too, but it was the only sound that disturbed the silence for some time.

Then, Sansa looked up from her work and sighed. “You’re really not going to go? Either of you?”

“Yes, Brienne, honestly? I’m going, and I don’t even work for Lannister.” Arya piped up, for she had wasted little time that afternoon in pleading, annoying, and threatening Tyrion into extending the invitation to her as well.

Brienne sighed. The afternoon had also been filled with the argument over, and over again. And Tyrion’s pleading.

“I told you, we’ll lend you the rent, it’s not a big deal.”

“I know and thank you, but you know it’s not just that.” Brienne shot her a significant look. Westerland was not a happy place for any of the Stark or Tarth family, and she couldn’t believe Sansa was so easily convinced to go back. There was a reason she had no desire to go there, or to Winterfell, or home to Tarth.

Podrick shot her a kind look, while Sansa shot her an exasperated one.

“Things have changed, Brienne. You’re not going to hide here forever just because it’s someplace you weren’t before. You can’t throw it away.”

“Sansa—“

“The worst things that will ever happen to us have already happened, there, and you can’t change it by avoiding it.”

THE PRESENT, 300 AC - KING’S LANDING

Brienne awoke in a cold sweat, her bedsheet tangled around her legs. Outside, the sky was dark, tinged with the barest hint of morning light. Or maybe, it was the clouds reflecting the lights of the city. She turned over, restless, to spot the glowing face of her alarm clock.

It was around four in the morning. Maybe a few minutes after, the distinction of minutes mattered little. It was just too damn early to be sitting, wide awake in bed, heart beating frantically in her chest.

Gods, not again.

She didn’t know what had woken her. But that mattered little as well. It happened often enough that, once, she found herself safe in bed again, it was merely a minor annoyance. It had been a long while since she had been bothered by it. Before she moved to King’s Landing, it had been the worst. And she had spent the many of long night sitting in the playroom with Bran, her stepbrother had always had terrible dreams too. Though, having suffered so much, the loss of his brothers, father, and health at such a young age, she never imagined it was very hard for him to know what kept him up at night.

When Brienne dreamed of Tarth, she knew it. She would wake up crying and shrieking, waking with grief instead of fear, that allowed her to roll over and go back to sleep. There was nothing to be done for that. She didn’t know why she woke up afraid. But, there was no going back to sleep now.

She got up and crept to the kitchen, closing Podrick’s door as she passed by. She retrieved one of her books from where she’d left them on the side table near the door and got a glass of water from the tap. There was little she could do until the others woke up; she turned to work, as she had all these years to take her mind off of things.

This particular book she had read many times; the diary of the last Targaryen queen, discovered only recently and printed only a few times for different institutions. The copy owned by King’s Landing University was practically hers now. She knew, with great embarrassment, that the tea stain on page fifty-seven, and the ink marking on page three hundred and four were her own doing. Her thesis was on the fall of the Targaryens, the greatest dynasty of leaders Westeros had ever seen, so it was an important document. But there was something captivating about the queen’s story itself that endeared it to her as well.

It was an easy enough story to lose herself in and before she knew it, the sitting room was filled with early morning light that warmed the air and seeped into the upholstery of the couch. Podrick was moving about in the kitchen, clumsy and still half asleep. He jumped when he saw her sitting there.

“I thought I was the only one awake.” He muttered in way of greeting. “It’s six-thirty and we don’t even have work today!” He hesitated for a moment. “Oh gods, tell me Professor Lannister doesn’t have you running his errands as well, that’s not fair!”

“No, what is he making you do?” Brienne asked suspiciously. They had been given three days off, after which they would be leaving for Lannisport. Tyrion would be getting a word from her about taking away some of Podrick’s.

“Just getting some things from school.” Podrick dismissed. “It won’t take long, don’t worry about it.”

It had taken Brienne three days to change her mind, and Podrick looked worried that she would change it back. He didn’t know, and she would never be telling him but, in the end, Podrick had convinced her. He had laid out all the perfectly valid professional reasons she should go, which were tempting enough, but his sad complaints about not wanting to be apart for so long had convinced her. Which made her think Tyrion had put him up to it, it would be like him to wage emotional warfare using his interns.

But, it had also reminded her that not going would mean sending Podrick, and Sansa and Arya away for a month while she remained alone in King’s Landing. And, staying anywhere alone for so long was an unpleasant idea. And, if last night and the many nights like it were any indication, it was also a rather bad idea.

So the arrangements had been made. Catelyn and Selwyn were informed that they would not be seeing Arya and Sansa in the north when the semester ended— a revelation Catelyn was not best pleased about. Train tickets were purchased, thankfully by Tyrion’s brother who had sent the invitation in the first place.

And, later that day, beginning to feel exhausted from her early morning,Brienne was standing in Arya and Sansa’s room.

She was helping Sansa finish packing her third valise. It was always something of an ordeal to get Sansa and her seemingly endless supply of skirts, blouses, and dresses anywhere. At least Sansa had long since given up trying to convince Brienne to plan her own packing similarly. Her own collection of trousers, blouses, and sweaters, folded the proper way, didn’t even fill one case.

Sansa looked hesitantly at her. “You know, the Lannister home is a large estate, there may be an occasion for—“

Brienne bit back a sigh. Perhaps it wasn’t as forgotten as she’d thought.

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Arya called, she was curled on her bed in the other corner, the white sheet hung to divide the room was pushed aside revealing Arya’s side of the room— messy where Sansa’s was neat. “They’re famously isolationist. Also, Brienne if you pack a dress, then I’ll be made to as well, so watch yourself.”

“Don’t make me risk my neck on the off chance that the Lannisters want to interact with us at all,” Brienne said wryly, feeling at but guilty at dashing Sansa’s hopes.

“You’re all ready to go and we aren’t leaving for two days, you’re already on thin ice.” Arya reminded, waving a lazy hand at the clothes, books, and various knickknacks strewn around on her bed and floor. “Someone might start to think you were actually excited about it.”

“Clearly not, because you’ve not been able to shut up about it but you’re nowhere near ready.” Sansa retorted. “You better be on good behavior, I won’t be around every second to remind you to be appropriate.”

“Thank the gods you reminded me, I was planning to break all of Tywin’s valuables and seduce the kitchen boy.”

Brienne snorted and tossed another blouse into the suitcase. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen in that place this month alone if you believe Tyrion.”

“Yeah,” Arya agreed. “Maybe we’ll get to see one of their famous blood sacrifices.”

ONE MONTH FROM NOW - OLD CASTERLY ROCK

The wind drove through the hallway entering and whistling through the holes in the wall that must once have been windows. It was chilling, even though the sun shone through the windows and cracks in the ceiling created dappled shadows on the dusty stone floor.

Brienne leaned against the sill of one of the windows, they were on the North-facing side of the castle and beyond the window, there was sparkling blue water, imposing cliffs, and small scattered villages along and among the rolling green hills.

Old Casterly Rock, the long-abandoned ancestral seat of the Lannisters, sat above it all; crumbling and overgrown.

The hallway echoed with the shrieking laughter of Podrick and Sansa, though they had gone ahead to the throne room situated at the end of the hallway where she currently stood. Soaking in the captivating view and waiting on Jaime Lannister.

She saw him around the corner from the main corridor out of the corner of her eye and turned back to the hallway without waiting for him to cross to her. She couldn’t bring herself to be irritated with him, terrible as he generally was, when she saw him struggling about.

Brienne watched her feet as she went, careful not to step on stones that were loose. She had no desire to accidentally end up underneath the castle, there was no telling what was down there. Which ordinarily, would have been tempting, but she’d seen and heard enough from the townspeople since arriving to be apprehensive of this place.

Jaime was still trailing behind her by a few steps, cursing under his breath, something about his damned legs. Brienne wanted to turn and snap at him— if only to tell him to have a little more patience with himself. _Whoever had put it in his head that he was fucked if he couldn’t keep up?_

Brienne shook her head. _I don’t feel bad for him. I won’t._

She stepped into the throne room over a single high step. It was a cavernous space that could hardly be called a throne room anymore with any great accuracy. The ceiling had crumbled to the floor, some though the room’s buttresses had remained, creating striped shadows on the floor. If there had been any art, or furniture or finery in the room long ago, it had long since rotten or been stolen away. She can make out tell-tale scrapings on the stone that years of experience told her was evidence that gold molding had been removed.

Now all that was replaced with greenery. Weeds grew between the stones, moss and vines covered the walls in the place of paintings and tapestries. Brienne thought they looked beautiful against the grey stone. She found herself forgetting the need to imagine the castle as it might have been in its prime, and forgot to look for hints that her imaginings might be right. She stopped in the grand doorway, struck by it.

“Wench,” Jaime stumbled towards her still in the hallway that had brought them here, holding out an arm for her to take.

Brienne steppes forward, gripping his forearm to hold him upright and pull him up the step into the room. Standing on the uneven stone floors, pitted with exposure to the elements and falling stones from the crumbling castle, was hard for him.

“All right?” She asked, gently pulling him as she wandered towards the others.

They were gathered around something on the opposite side of the old throne room where a vine had grown over the wall, obscuring whatever had once been there. The four of them had hurried on, following Tyrion’s lead twenty minutes back, when Jaime had needed to rest a moment.

“Fine.” He said through gritted teeth that made her want to protest. But, forcing him to admit he was in pain would probably lead to her carrying him... again.

“Are you done mooning over this room or do you need a few more minutes?”

“Piss off,” Brienne muttered, moving further into the room, turning away from him and back to her surroundings.

“You can’t be angry with me, you brought me here,” Jaime whined.

“Honestly? I seem to recall your almost crying when I told you I would be gone all day.”

“Crying? Doesn’t sound like me, perhaps you’ve mistaken me for the other cripple you care for day in and day out.”

“No, it was definitely you.” Brienne shot back flatly, slowly becoming aware that they had interrupted the conversation between the others with their bickering. They weren’t gathered around the wall, she realized, but a blueprint map Tyrion had placed on the floor there.

Brienne stooped to join them, leaving Jaime standing behind her.

“Do you two need a minute? Or a room maybe?” Arya twisted to look up at them. “Tyrion was just showing up inaccurate these maps are, see—“

“Hey!” Jaime interrupted, not even letting them get a moment's work done before he demanded their attention.

“Oh, Jaime, what did we agree on?” Tyrion scolded, opening his mouth to speak again and then realizing his brother was staring at the window with a faraway look. “Jaime!”

Brienne rose to her feet, hand going instinctively to his arm, her eyes following his. And she did see something strange, a light, smokey cloud traveling towards, them, settling in like a fog. It almost looked like it was shimmering, bending the sunlight still visible through it until the cloud looked alive with pulses of silvery light.

She turned back to Tyrion and the others to point out the strange weather, but the move made her head spin. She clutched Jaime’s arm to keep herself upright as the world righted itself for a moment.

“What—“ She began. There was a strange taste in her mouth, like salt, though not like blood.

She turned back to the window, not having a moment to fight off the fresh wave of vertigo before she watched the cloud pour in through the cracked glass. It smelled strange, electrified, like the smell in her room back at King’s Landing when a fuse blew or her lamp overheated.

“Gods, no,” Jaime muttered, as though he had seen such a thing before and it was just dawning on him.

Moments later he was slumped over, eyes rolling back into his head. And she couldn’t catch him— she was falling with him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime meet up in the future. In the present, they are introduced.

UNKNOWN - OLD CASTERLY ROCK

She never quite stopped falling, consumed by darkness and vertigo that seemed to stretch on forever. Had she hit the ground? Was she about to?Her shoulders tensed, her hands tried to shoot out in front of her to break the fall. Her stomach was churning and she pressed her lips tightly together for fear that she would vomit if she opened her mouth.

Instead, she was standing again, solid on both feet. Her heart racing and pounding against her ribcage. Everything was still dark, and she was much colder than she had been before. At least, the vertigo seemed to have passed. She stood steady on the uneven rocks beneath her feet— familiar enough, right enough.

But, how? She didn’t feel anyone helping her up, and her hands were hanging loose by her sides, not holding a wall or rail to support her. And it was _still_ dark— _no, never mind, my eyes are closed._

_Why?_

She snapped them open— and immediately stumbled back.

She was _not_ in the throne room.

Surrounding her was what appeared to be a bedroom if the bedroom was from one hundred years ago. There were no lights, or electrical outlets to be seen. A candle on the bedside table and a fire in the hearth lit the room, and a grand, canopied bed sat against the back wall. The floor was covered mostly by an intricately woven carpet, but for a thin strip where she stood near the wall. Everything was deep red and vibrant gold, from the woven bedding to the patterned cloth paneling on the walls.

The left part of the room, beyond the heavy wood-carved door, was mostly open but for a chair and small writing table set before the large window and an imposing wardrobe.

Outside the window, it looked to be the middle of the night. The inky black was punctuated by fires that looked to be along the walls, or perhaps shining through other windows of the building, it was exceedingly hard to tell.

_All right,_ she thought. She had fainted, while they were at the castle today. Fair enough.

The room where she stood now could ostensibly be in Tyrion’s family house. It was large enough, she had truly only seen the main gathering areas, Jaime’s rooms, and their rooms outside of the library. And the lack of electricity wasn’t any stranger than anything else the Lannister family did. She was standing, maybe she had been sleepwalking. And there _had_ to be a reason that she had not been put in her own room.

_Or_ , she was still asleep and this was a strange dream borne from the head injury she undoubtedly got from falling on hard stone.

_Bang!_ Brienne nearly jumped out of her skin at the noise and whirled to face the door, at long last turning away from the fire. It was hot against her back— which admittedly would be an odd detail for a dream.

The door behind her had slammed open, admitting a frantic-looking Jaime. Another thing that would be rather odd to find in a dream— Jaime. Particularly behaving as _spooked_ as he was now.

When his eyes found her, some of the wildness disappeared into overwhelming relief— far cry from their usual mutual annoyance. He was still wearing the same clothes from earlier; a white shirt, khakis— as unreasonably handsome as always.

“Thank the gods,” He darted towards her and grabbed her arm and then _shook it._ It was as though he was reassuring himself that she was real, rather than to holding himself up.

“You’re not supposed to be running.” Brienne reminded him, mindlessly, vaguely beginning to wonder if this was some plot or prank the Lannisters were trying to pull on her. Strangely, it was the first thing that popped into her mind.

“We’re well past that now, wench, don’t you think?” He sounded breathless though he wasn’t winded, his hand was shaking a little against her arm.

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with— what’s wrong with _you?_ How can you be so calm?”

Brienne frowned. “Should I be worried?”

Jaime rolled his eyes.“Where do you think we are?”

She shrugged. “At your house, in a room.”

“There’s no electricity!” He pointed out. “Anywhere. Aren’t you supposed to be a doctor?”

“Well, I’m not yet!” She snapped, even though it wasn’t at all the point of what he was saying. “And I thought that was something your family had decided on purpose, the no electricity bit.”

Jaime looked like he was about to demand an explanation so she cut him off—

“It wouldn’t really be the strangest thing about this place, you have to admit.”

“I think it would be up there on the list.” He retorted after a brief pause where she could almost see him struggling to stay on whatever topic he was trying to get at.

“But not number one,” Brienne agreed, like it proved her point, forgetting for a moment that his response very much implied that she was wrong… which certainly made things more complicated.

“Forget it, it’s not important.” Jaime pulled her towards the window, gesturing outside it with his bandaged arm when they reached it. “Where’s the city, then? Where’s the sea? You can always see one of them from the windows at home. It can’t have disappeared.”

“Then it’s a dream?” Brienne guessed flatly, still not convinced that this wasn’t a strange joke.

“No!” Jaime said sourly, looking at her briefly before returning his gaze to the darkness beyond the window. “Something terrible happened.”

“Where were you before this?”

“Corridor,” Jaime jerked his head towards the door. “About twenty armored men marched right past me.”

“Armed with what?” Brienne frowned. “Didn’t they say anything to you?”

“ _Armored._ And they didn’t see me,”

Brienne turned towards him sharply, irritated that he hadn’t answered the question. “Armored, as in—“ She made a vague gesture, drawing her hand downwards, tracing her breastbone and sternum in the air in front of her.

“ _Yes,”_ Jaime snapped. “Armor, swords, shields, the whole thing.”

“If they didn’t notice you, then—“ Brienne gestured at his clothes again, sure to look out of place in a sea of old-fashioned _knights._ He just sounded so sure about it, she was beginning to wonder if he was just out of his mind, and not truly trying to harm her.

“I was hiding, there’s an alcove near the window and it’s so dark in here…”

Brienne took a deep breath. “All right, and the last thing you remember, is the throne room and—“

“Feeling dizzy? Yes.” Jaime nodded, holding her gaze now. “Do you think that Tyrion…. And the others?”

The long pause after he spoke his brother’s name gave her pause. “Did you truly forget all their names?”

Jaime hesitated. “There are a lot of you!”

“There are four of us.”

“I remember you, _Brienne.”_

“I’m glad, it’s only taken you a month.” Brienne snapped. “You may be hallucinating knights in shining armor but at least I’m not stuck here with someone who thinks my name is ‘wench’, right?”

“I am not hallucinating!” Jaime hissed, his hand finding her arm again, this time squeezing tighter than truly necessary. “And we need to find the others—“

“ _If_ there are the others.” Brienne reminded.

“Yes,” Jaime agreed, eyeing her hesitantly. “I think we should change, first.”

Brienne blinked and glanced down at her outfit. She wore a blue sweater, black trousers, and shoes. Versatile enough that she could look presentable if required, but allowed her to make the climb to Old Casterly Rock, explore it, and carry Jaime if it was truly needed.

“Why? You think the knights holding us captive are going to have a problem with my _clothes?_ That’s a new level of stupid, Lannister. _”_

_“_ Gods, will you ever stop arguing? I’m saying somehow we—“

Jaime stopped short and she didn’t realize why for a moment before she heard it. A faraway wailing noise. Like a horn being played on a single note. The sound cut off and promptly started anew. If Jaime ever finished what he was saying, she missed it completely. It felt like the blood in her veins was turning to ice, more and more with each wail of the horn. It was a sound she heard often enough in her nightmares.

_Where the hell are we?_

“What the hell is that?” Jaime wondered aloud after the fourth blare of the horn.

“A signal to soldiers. There’s an attack.”

“How do you know that?”

“You said it yourself, I’m a doctor of history, I know a lot of things,” Brienne replied, hoping her voice wasn’t as shaky as she felt. But, there was approximately no way she was about to tell him the true reason for it.

“So, you believe me?” Jaime asked. “About the time travel?”

“The _what?”_

THE PRESENT — NEW CASTERLY ROCK

Arya was throwing pillows at her from the other room. She woke with a start to the first one, quickly followed by three more before Brienne could get a good bearing on her surroundings.

“Damn, I’m out— Pod!”

Brienne propped herself up on her elbows, glancing around. She was in her room in the guest apartment, her bed was placed in one corner between two of the many windows. Thankfully, she had thought to draw the heavy blue curtains the night before, because what light was filtering through it promised a very bright morning.

Another pillow hit her on the chest, waking her just as she had begun to consider rolling over and going back to sleep.

“Hey! I’m awake already.” She snapped, glaring at Arya before casting a glance at the bedside clock. It was a needlessly ornate thing— gold moulding carved like a clawed hand holding the clock in its palm— at least the clock seemed accurate. It was eight o’clock.

They had arrived so late the previous evening that she had all but collapsed on her bed as soon as she walked in. Her luggage was still lying on the bureau, clothes spilling out of it from when she had rummaged through it for her pajamas. Yesterday’s clothes were discarded in the middle of the room.

Now she took in the room more seriously, awake and alert enough to appreciate how beautiful it really was.

It was wallpapered, deep blue and vibrant gold. The sheets still tangled around her legs matched it, and the comforter was embroidered with brilliant yellow and blue flowers. All of the furniture was dark, glossy wood; far more opulent than anything in the Stark’s home. The floor was bare and freezing as she padded over to the opposite west-facing window where the sea stretched out to the horizon, glittering in the already brilliant sunlight. To the south, she could make out Lannisport, a colorful sprawling collection of low buildings in the valley below the Rock that spread from the hills around it, all the way to the sandy-white seashore. To her right, she could see the rest of the castle where it was built out onto the part of the cliff that jutted out even further. Her room was on an upper level so she could see a few courtyards with small gardens and fountains and three other towers of white stone, stretching even higher into the sky.

“Gods,” she muttered to herself.

“Breakfast is ready if you’re quite done.”

She jumped and spun to see Arya stretched out on the bed, messing with the tassels on one of the pillows she’d thrown.

“Tyrion gave you the best room. Everything in mine is brown and gold, it’s hideous, and I have one window, faces an interior courtyard.”

“We can switch—“ Brienne offered. “I really don’t care that much.”

She did a bit. She could get used to the view, to sitting before the window to read and do her work if Tyrion ever let her leave the library.

Arya shook her head. “You have the worst room at home, and that’s saying something because I share with _Sansa._ But anyways, you should come have breakfast, Sansa had it set out on the terrace, and,” Arya’s eyes gleamed a little with excitement that was more terrifying that conspiratorial. “Apparently Tyrion’s family will be up to meet the invaders.”

“The…” Brienne repeated, intending to continue to confirm that it was the Lannister family coming to their rooms and suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious about her exploding suitcase, unmade bed, and the clothes from yesterday discarded in the middle of the room.

“That’s us, the Invaders.” Arya grinned. “Get dressed! Hurry!”

Brienne nodded and promptly fled to the bathroom, another splendid room made of marble and white wood. And far, far, too many mirrors for her liking.

Her hair was frizzy and sticking out in odd places, there was a crease on her cheek from her pillow that had not yet faded. The boxy pajama set she was wearing did her wide shoulders and tall frame few favors, and the freckles sprinkled over her nose, and cheeks were all the more visible given how sunny it had been recently.

There wasn’t a lot to work with, but then again, there never was. But she felt more panicked about the fact today. If there had ever been a cause to not look so dreadful, meeting Tywin _fucking_ Lannister was probably pretty high ranking on the list.

She brushed her teeth, washed her face then tidied her hair into a ponytail that she was pleased curled slightly at the end for once like Sansa’s always did. Essentially nothing else could be done about her face; she fled the bathroom and its dizzying mirrors.

Back in her room, she pulled out grey trousers and a blouse that Sansa had given her. After some consideration, she had figured that it was probably a safer bet than something she had bought for herself. Ridiculously, she made sure that her bra matched her underwear before putting on the rest of her clothes. There was absolutely no reason for it, she told herself— whilst doing it anyways.

Sansa and Arya were sitting on the terrace when she walked out; Sansa in a blue and white checkered dress and a disapproving look at Arya’s ill-fitting black shirt and jeans. Podrick was nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Pod?” Brienne asked, taking a seat at the table that was set for eight.

“He went to get Tyrion and his siblings, apparently they got lost on their way up here.” Arya snickered. “Imagine not knowing where to go in your own home. They must be completely stupid.”

“Arya!” Sansa chided. “You shouldn’t say that when they could overhear you.”

“But I can say it when I’m sure they can’t?”

Sansa shrugged. “It’s not as though you’re wrong.”

Brienne snorted along with Arya now, she could tell they had both been expecting Sansa to say quite the opposite.

Breakfast seemed to consist of fruit, bread, cheese, and orange juice. Briefly, Brienne had to consider if it was selected because it looked lovely spread out on the table with the sea for a background.

She put a bit of fruit in her bowl, not feeling much like eating. “Are they going to bring us all of our meals?”

Sansa nodded. “I think so, I asked Tyrion a few weeks ago, and it seems like that’s how it works. Oh, don’t look so upset about it, you’ll get a break from cooking us dinner every night for three months.”

Brienne forced a smile that quickly melted away when she saw the door to their rooms swing open and Podrick strode inside, followed by Tyrion, three others, one of them in a wheelchair.

The first of them was a woman who managed to look bored and enraged at the same time. Her long hair, like spun gold, was tied back in a long braid and she wore clothes that suggested she had recently been exercising. Though nothing else about her did. Presumably, Tyrion’s sister, Cersei.

The man beside her could only be Tywin with shocking white hair, and a face that could, quite literally, only be described as imposing. He wore an expensive-looking suit that seemed completely out of place for just having gotten up for the day. He was glancing around at their rooms as though he had never seen them before, and she was beginning to think he likely _hadn’t._

The last Lannister was the one in the wheelchair pushed by Tyrion, his right arm was bandaged heavily— and he appeared to be complaining to his brother. As he spoke, his eyes wide and pained, at Tyrion, he was brushed off. Tyrion just rolled his eyes, Brienne felt a flash of pride that he hadn’t let his family roll right over him. The last Lannister looked like the first; utterly breathtaking, with golden hair, striking eyes, features and figures statuesque in their perfection.

Brienne cast a sidelong glance at Sansa, whose face betrayed no terror, no excitement, nothing other than neutrality until her eyes met Brienne’s and flared slightly in disbelief.

When Brienne turned back, the five of them were standing on the terrace, moving to their places without so much as acknowledging the ones already there. Tywin sat at the end of the table, his daughter assuming the place at his right hand, the chair was moved so that his son could sit on his left. Tyrion took the spot between Arya and Cersei, hurrying to do so after Cersei had cast a distasteful expression at Arya which had been returned by a flat glare. Podrick seated himself between Brienne and Jaime’s wheelchair, apologizing at least six times to the man as he did so and bumped his chair in the process.

When they had all settled, Tyrion cleared his throat, louder and for longer than was truly necessary before speaking.

“Father, Cersei, Jaime, these are my students, Sansa and Brienne, my assistant, Podrick, and Sansa’s sister, Arya. They have joined me from King’s Landing for work.”

Tywin looked over them as though for the first time realizing they were there, he simply nodded at them and asked Podrick to pass him the bowl of fruit. His eyebrow arched doubtfully as Podrick’s hands shook while he passed the bowl to Tywin.

“Wait, _Brienne?”_ Jaime asked incredulously, staring at her. And suddenly everyone else was too, and she knew she was flushing, _damn it._ “She’s a girl?”

Tyrion grimaced. “Yes, she’s a girl, Jaime. Do try not to be such an ass.”

“Language,” Tywin muttered as though Tyrion were twelve and not twenty-six. Tyrion shot his father an incredulous look.

“You’ll have to forgive my son, girl,” Tywin said, pinning her with a hard look. “He was never good with words.”

Brienne nodded nervously, wondering if he meant Tyrion or Jaime, surely not Tyrion—

The table fell into an icy silence for a long moment, during which Brienne was too panicked to speak, second-guessing herself on the choice to not respond to Tywin’s apology to notice what anyone else at the table was doing. And, in the case that they were all staring at her, she decided she’d rather not know— she stared hard at her plate, still not wanting to eat the food she’d put on it.

Then, Cersei spoke. “Honestly, Jaime, how hard is it to use a fork, are you a child?”

Brienne glanced towards him, for the first time noticing his right arm properly. It was shortened, and oddly shaped— he didn’t have a right hand, she realized inanely. And was struggling to eat his food with his left.

She nudged Podrick, raising her eyebrows in a silent _help him?_ Gods knew she had little reason for it, the man seemed like a complete ass, to borrow Tyrion’s words. But still, she felt a twinge of pity at his sister’s treatment of him.

Instead, Jaime just glared at her. “Leave it be, wench. I don’t need a nursemaid and certainly not one as unsightly as you are.”

And, just like that, any sympathy she’d felt died, and quickly at that. Brienne blinked, he had said a fair few things with the brief sentence, but her mind was caught on the _wench_ part.

“Who does he think he is?” She saw Arya mouth at Sansa, echoing her own thoughts at the outburst.

Tywin cleared his throat. “Jaime, that’s quite enough. Tyrion, tell us about this project that has foisted you upon us once more, I do remember you swearing in no uncertain terms that we wouldn’t be seeing you again.”

Tyrion shrugged. “Much has changed since then, I’m not eighteen anymore.”

Tywin nodded. “But, it must be important to have brought along such a… delegation.”

“Brienne and Sansa are doing their doctoral theses on matters relevant to my research and as their advisor, I hope that the trip will provide them with important insights for their own projects. Podrick, is here to assist me, and quite frankly, I don’t know what Arya is doing here but that she’s a sharp little thing for weaseling her way onto the trip.”

“She’ll help Brienne and me, sir,” Sansa said, confidently lying through her teeth. “She’ll stay well out of your way.”

Brienne very much doubted that. Or that they’re being “underfoot” was what Tywin was peeved about at all.

*

The library was starkly different than the rest of the estate. Where much of the castle was sunny and airy, the library was a dimly lit and windowless room. It was, however, as arrestingly large as all the other rooms. The stones that made the walls and vaulted ceiling supported by interlocking arches were brown stone instead of white. The back part of the room was shelves upon shelves of books, the front area was a neat collection of work tables, armchairs, sofas, and display cases arranged around a grand fireplace. Different artifacts that Brienne itched to inspect more carefully hung on the walls and in the cases.

Tyrion was already sitting at the head of the table looking at a booklet of notes Podrick had typed for him. Brienne recognized it as the research plan he had come up with, outlining the goals of his investigation. _Not,_ she thought bitterly, _that he’d ever let me read it myself._

He glanced up at her when she entered and grinned. “You didn’t run away. I thought you might.”

“Your brother doesn’t scare me.” She said stiffly. “He’s a dick, though. You didn’t mention that.”

“More than he used to be,” Tyrion agreed, as though it was an explanation. “He’s had a hard time of it.”

Brienne rolled her eyes and took a seat beside Tyrion. “Where are the others?”

“Sansa and Podrick went to get coffees from the kitchen, and—“

“I’m back here, Brienne.”

Brienne twisted in her seat to see Arya emerging from behind one of the tall display cases. “I think I found a secret door,” she said.

Brienne raised her eyebrows, mostly just impressed that Arya had managed to fit, from here it looked like the case was flush against the wall.

“If we move the case, I bet I could open it.”

“We’re not moving the case,” Tyrion said flatly. “And the tunnels don’t lead anywhere important, there are old mines under the castle from when the Lannister’s lived at the old castle.”

Arya’s eyes widened. “There’s another castle?”

Tyrion nodded. “You, of course, remember the Great Rebellion, against the Targaryen king. One hundred and twenty-three years ago, when the northern states, Westerland, and Dorne rose against the King’s rule, and when they defeated them, began the Baratheon dynasty.”

Arya fixed him with a flat look. “I’m a Stark, Tyrion. The war was practically fought over my great-great-great-great grandmother, or aunt, or something.”

Tyrion nodded. “Well, the old Casterly Rock burned from the Targaryen’s dragon fire during one of the penultimate battles. Though, I suppose you Starks don’t care much for that story. It was your idiot commander who lost us the battle, not believing that the Royal forces would bring their dragons.”

Arya scowled. “How’s that my fault?”

“It’s not, but if Casterly Rock hadn’t burned, Westerland would still be independent of those idiots in King’s Landing.”

“Isn’t your father one of those idiots? Oh, wait, he was until your brother killed that one man...”

“For the last time, Jaime didn’t kill Aerys. It was proved in court. I’m not having this fight with you again, Arya.”

“It was hardly proved, Tyrion,” Brienne said quietly.

“Yeah, Mum said it was all bribes and bad evidence, and she would know— Petyr tells her too much.”

The door to the library shut with a heavy thud, drawing their attention to it. Sansa and Podrick stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at them in confusion. Both of them carried trays laden with mugs, pitchers and carafes.

“What are we arguing about today?” Sansa asked.

“The war.” Tyrion waved off. “What type of—“

“The one with Dorne?” Podrick asked.

“No, Podrick, the war we’re all actually interested in and writing important papers on. Dorne was only fifteen years ago, that’s barely history.” Arya snapped. “For some reason, Tyrion seems to think I know nothing about it, even though both of my sisters happen to be doing research on it.”

“Well, you’re like, what, ten? Eleven years old?” Tyrion was clearly teasing her, but Arya fumed nonetheless.

“I’m eighteen— almost nineteen.” Arya retorted, the childishness of the statement working only to increase the irony.

Sansa set her tray down on the table firmly and clapped her hands together to draw their attention. “Fascinating as all this is, Brienne and I want to go see Lannisport this afternoon so shall we get started?”

Tyrion nodded, beginning to serve himself a cup of coffee. “Yes, but I need Brienne after this for a bit so the trip may have to wait.”

*

The meeting with Tyrion would given time, prove to be one of the best things Brienne had ever done. Though, in the moment, she was exhausted, and angry at Tyrion for pulling her away from her plans with Sansa. Particularly when it seemed for a long, ten-minute walk through the estate, that he wanted only to ramble at her about a letter he had found the previous evening in the Lannister archives.

He thought it would be important. To her, it sounded only like a letter written by a soldier to his sweetheart, with no political implications. But, Tyrion seemed to think that the recipients status as a member of the Lannister family guaranteed the letter was sinister.

How on Earth the conversation managed to end with her agreeing to help take care of his injured brother was honestly beyond her.

One moment, she was walking down the hallway with Tyrion, arguing back and forth about some silly letter, the next she had been shown into a room. A wide open room, with soft mats laid out over the marble floors, where Jaime Lannister and some sort of doctor were running through some sort of leg exercise. Jaime had cast them a sideways glance then returned his gaze to the ceiling, saying nothing but sighing deeply upon seeing them.

And before that could truly sink in, Tyrion was blabbering on and on about a job offer, taking care of his brother when his doctors weren’t around. Something about Cersei not being able to handle it anymore, and his siblings being at each others’ throats over the whole ordeal.

The whole thing was baffling, sticking her somewhere firmly between being floored by the suggestion and suspicious that there was something else going on here. But Tyrion was assuring her that she was kind, and compassionate, and stern when she needed to be. Also strong, so she could lift Jaime if it was needed. And, more convincingly, offering her fifteen thousand dragons to do it.

She protested that Jaime wouldn’t like it, which Tyrion didn’t bother to deny, but it didn’t seem to make much of a difference to him. Then she protested that someone else would be more qualified, namely, Tyrion himself. A suggestion which Tyrion turned away easily, saying Jaime didn’t need his brother for this. And somewhat cryptically telling her that she was the only one who could help.

Sansa didn’t need the money. Podrick was tiny and awkward. Arya was tiny and abrasive and didn’t need the money.

Finally, Tyrion suggested that he trusted her, and he was worried about his brother. The accident he had had was traumatic and the past few months had been hard on him, and truly transformative of Jaime as a person. Which utterly failed in convincing Brienne to feel bad for Jaime. She would surely outmatch Jaime Lannister in whose life had been a bigger tragedy— as well as she could outmatch him at being a decent person to strangers.

The fifteen thousand dragons, however, was hard to pass up. It would allow her to focus completely on schoolwork and her research next year, instead of splitting her time between working at the cafe and in Tyrion’s office, and rarely sleeping. She could ignore a few insults for that end.

“I don’t have to help him in the shower, do I?”

Tyrion laughed. “No, unless that would be a perk?”

“Don’t make me stop considering this, Lannister.”

“That a no, then? Are you certain you’ve seen him?”

Brienne arched an eyebrow, hoping he’d realized how it sounded. “And what am I supposed to do with him when I’m working?”

“Bring him along, or leave him. He’s a twenty-eight-year-old man, I’m sure he’ll see fit to tell you what he wants.”

Brienne thought it was quite likely that he’d tell her he wanted her to screw off.

“Is there something you want to share with the rest of us, Tyrion?” Jaime called, his voice strained like he was in pain.

Brienne and Tyrion both turned towards him, then Tyrion turned back to her expectantly.

“Is there, Tarth?”

Brienne rolled her eyes, delaying for one last indecision-filled moment. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Excellent! Then, yes, there is, Jaime, you remember Brienne…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope everyone is enjoying it! As always feedback is appreciated, feel free to reach out in the comments section, or on my Tumblr (brienneetarth.tumblr.com)   
> -B


	3. Chapter 3

UNKNOWN - OLD CASTERLY ROCK

There were men’s clothes in the wardrobe. And they were the most difficult articles of clothing Brienne had ever had to put on. The trousers laced up like her running shoes and the laces on the shirt were far more complicated. She had seen the likes of them before, in museums and books but they were significantly more complicated hanging off her.

It was worse for Jaime who was entirely helpless against them with his one hand.

Brienne had dressed first, wrestling with her trousers, blouse, and boots while making sure Jaime stayed turned around, eyes fixed on the fire. He had mocked her enough when she’d removed her glasses and stowed them in the wardrobe. _Gods, wench please put them back on, I don’t think I’ll survive seeing more of your face._

When it came time for him to change, she turned away, staring at her reflection in the darkened window and firelight. The clothes looked silly, the shirt was far too big, but for where it was tight around her shoulders, and the pants were simultaneously too loose and too short, tied unevenly around her waist with a cloth strip she’d torn from one of the other shirts.

She had needed to discard her hair elastic and her hair was hung loose and stringy around her face.

Jaime cried out as though in pain. Brienne’s heart jumped into her throat, and she spun around in her heel. The spike of anxiety calmed slightly as he let out a string of curses.

It was not as she had immediately feared, nothing _strange_ had happened. It was just that Jaime couldn’t dress himself. He had his shirt string between his teeth and held in his left hand, he was flushed with anger and, perhaps in her imagination, embarrassment.

She longed to roll her eyes at him. She didn’t allow herself to, it wouldn’t do to mock him about his hand. Instead, she crossed to him and dropped to one knee and grabbed the ties for his trousers.

It took nearly three full seconds for the oddness of the position to dawn on her and she paused. Jaime was looking down at her, _gleefully,_ and her stomach contracted in a horrified cringe.

 _Gods, you’re such an idiot._ She chided herself.

“Wench, I—“ His tone forecast whatever insult or horrific joke was to come.

Brienne punched him in the stomach. The words died in his mouth. She got back to work, moving quickly and steadfastly _not_ thinking about kneeling in front of him, praying to the Gods that she would stop flushing from the embarrassment.

When she straightened, Jaime was staring at the floor, undoubtedly worried that she was going to hit him again if he made a wrong move. He glanced up at her a moment, meeting her eyes fleetingly and then fixing them on the wall behind her head, refusing to meet her eyes with the strange look in his.

She sighed heavily and retrieved the ties of his shirt herself and threading them in and out of the holes in the garment.

It was harder than it should have been not to notice the exposed skin of his stomach and chest below. He wasn’t particularly muscular, though she guessed he may have been before the accident. Still, it made her cheeks burn even more fiercely with something that wasn’t embarrassment.

_Gods damn it, Tyrion._

She fastened the tie of his shirt and stepped away, turning away from him as fast as she could. In their preoccupation, more torches had been lit along the walls. She could make out soldiers moving around in the courtyard below them. Jaime hadn’t been mistaken about the armored soldiers— perhaps thirty were milling about below, firelight glancing off their polished, gold armor. Though, without her glasses, she could make out the detailing on it very well.

Jaime shoved her aside with his shoulder to join her at the window. A faint noise of understanding escaped his lips as he looked at the scene below them.

“Looks like you were wrong, Tarth. It’s the Lannisters.”

“What?” Brienne asked, leaning in again to see around the voluminous curtain.

Jaime let out a long-suffering sigh. “The soldiers. They wear old Lannister armor— what? You think you’re the only one who knows anything about history? I didn’t see you noticing that one.”

“No, I can’t see it, I remember someone shouting at me to take my glasses off.” _And then to put them back on, asshole._

“Well, they are Lannisters, my father has, like, six of those sets of armor scattered around the estate.” Jaime continued, waving her aside. “We should find the others, this is strange.”

Brienne bit her lip, steeling herself to agree with him. She still didn’t buy the thing about time-travel for a second, but wherever they really were, the others might need help too. And they could find a way out together. Of course, she was still hoping this was some elaborate dream she would wake up from— but it wasn’t happening and not for lack of trying.

“Don’t talk too much,” Jaime continued. “This is Westerland, they’ll speak common— probably, but if we’re back in—“

“Take your own advice and shut it,” Brienne said flatly, more focused on stopping herself from panicking than listening to his theorizing. “We don’t know this is Westerland.”

“Yes,” Jaime pointed to the rug. “This rug hangs on the wall in one of the halls at home _because_ it miraculously survived the burning of Casterly Rock a century ago, everything else flammable was gone.”

She studied the rug for a moment. Without the history Jaime had shared, it would be quite unremarkable, beautifully colored and patterned, but unremarkable. She had even seen the pattern before. It was hardly a wonder she had missed it among all the other things New Casterly Rock had to offer in terms of artifacts.

“Can we please go?” She snapped. Her hand closed over his right arm and she hauled him towards the door.

It was lighter than it looked but creaked and groaned when she opened it. She didn’t pause before stepping out around it, Jaime still in tow. Brienne knew she should not hesitate because she was likely to turn and run.

She found herself wishing Arya were here instead of Jaime. Her sister would be brave enough to explore the strange place without a cloud of doom hanging over her head. Either of her sisters might have understood better why Brienne hated to see fire dancing up along the ramparts and off the stone walls. She had been pushing the image out of her head for all her life but was right beyond the glass panes in the room.

Jaime Lannister was just an ass.

“Ser?” A young, pitchy voice sounded from just behind the door, drawing her gaze downwards. A young boy, no more than ten was crouching there.

“Who’re you?” Jaime blurted, instantly breaking his demand that they speak as little as possible.

“Ser Kevan’s squire… Lord…?” The boy trailed off a few times, clearly alarmed.

Brienne’s head was spinning at the words. _Kevan Lannister_ was a name she knew more than well, she had seen it a thousand times in the hundreds of letters and journals and textbooks that came across her desk. _Which would mean…_

“Just Jaime.” Jaime corrected. Brienne had to restrain herself from treading over his toes in what would surely be an unsubtle warning.

“I’m a… servant.” He continued, finally pulling his arm out of Brienne’s grip to the suspicion of the ‘squire’.

“Don’t talk like any servant I know.”

“We’re from the East,” Brienne said hurriedly. “Near Pentos.”

The boy nodded sadly. “Are you escaping the war? My lord says things have been terrible there as of late.”

Brienne shivered, another memory, another thing noted in books and letters and ledgers; the famine that had ravaged Essos and the Free Cities around the time of the Rebellion. _Wars were common enough in the Free Cities, it didn’t mean anything._

Jaime nodded. “Yes, it’s bad.”

Now, she did step on his toe, disbelief flooding her mind at his words.

The squire caught it and looked up at them. “What were you doing in there? My lord told me to stand guard here but I thought it was just because of the battle, and he wanted me out of the way.”

“The battle?” Jaime asked. “What battle?”

“Against the crown, the Targaryens are coming here, our scouts said. Everyone knows about it.” _So why don’t you?_ The question was unspoken but clear.

Not that she was formulating a response to it. The first part of what he said took all her attention, and her blood felt ice-cold in her veins. She might’ve stumbled where she stood if Jaime’s arm hadn’t _happened_ to wrap around her waist, pulling her clumsily to his side. He was going on and on about something she didn’t care to hear.

“…show her what preparations for a real battle looked like, hopefully, she won’t be keeping me up tonight scared about what’s going to happen now that she’s seen it.”

Brienne gripped his arm, realization crashing over her clearing the fog in her mind. “Jaime, we need to go, _now.”_

She turned away from the young boy, beyond caring what he was going to do with their odd behavior. Jaime was forced to unwind her from his arms, and quickly before he was pulled after her.

Three corridors sped by in a blur before Brienne paused, pulling them into an alcove, near a window that overlooked the sea. Chilly night air was seeping in around the seals of the windows, cutting right through her thin blouse.

“Okay, before you get angry, what else was I supposed to say?”

“Who cares— wait, what did you say?”

“Implied heavily that we’re married, were you not—“

She waved him aside, still scarcely registering it. “It’s truly not important. Jaime, gods, this better not go to your head—” Brienne took a deep breath. “You’re right.”

Jaime’s eyes widened. “That was quick, what—“

Brienne still refused to let him finish a sentence. “And since you are right, or I think you are, I think _we are_ in serious danger.”

“What?”

“The Fall of Casterly Rock was a bloodbath, it happened in one night with hardly any warning. If what the squire said it true, that’s tonight.”

PRESENT - NEW CASTERLY ROCK

Sansa was the only one awake when Brienne left their apartment in the morning. She always was an early riser. She was perched on the couch, drinking coffee with her nose buried in a large book and looking picture-perfect with the sea in the background through the full-length window.

She looked up when Brienne’s bedroom door clicked shut and grimaced.

“You don’t have to do it, Tyrion doesn’t own you.” Sansa offered. She was resigned though, knowing full well that nothing she could say would change Brienne’s mind.

When Brienne shook her head Sansa only nodded— it didn’t come as a surprise to her.

“Just, don’t listen to him,” Sansa said fretfully. “I hate to imagine that you’re taking anything he thinks to heart, he’s a bitter old man.”

Brienne laughed. “I think he’s twenty-eight, Sansa.”

Sansa wrinkled her nose. “Tell him he acts like he’s sixty. Perhaps that will shut him up. I don’t think the Lannisters can legally fire you for being rude to him when they’re all such dicks to begin with.”

Brienne laughed. “They’re probably going to kill you for saying that.”

Sansa shrugged, half turning back to her reading. “That’s why I brought Arya. Now, you go,” She looked back up at Brienne with a reassuring smile.

Brienne turned towards the door into the corridor, gathering her book bag from where it sat on a chair next to the door.

Sansa was calling reassurances after her. “And don’t listen to a thing he says, you’re a good person and your hair looks great today, I love y— oh, hush Pod, it’s seven-thirty you should be awake.”

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving her alone in the hallway. Brienne turned left and began the unreasonably long walk to Jaime’s rooms.

It was on the other side of the estate, through three courtyard gardens and two grand halls. At the top of the grand, bifurcated staircase of shiny white and gold marble, there was another arched hallway that led to the door to Jaime’s rooms.

She had wondered at first how Jaime got to his rooms. He wasn’t always wheelchair-bound now, but following his accident it had been unclear if he would be able to walk, or so Tyrion had told her. Brienne hadn’t yet seen a ramp or elevator in favor of a showy, or worse, tightly winding staircase.

And his family seemed less than interested in helping him at all.

Not that she had cared enough to ask. It was a mere curiosity, that she could do without satisfying if it meant one less conversation with Jaime.

The question was answered soon enough though when she was instructed to help him walk downstairs and bring the wheelchair down afterwards. Tywin steadfastly refused to adapt his house to his son’s circumstances, it wasn’t worth it, Tyrion explained, because Jaime was going to get better soon enough.

Jaime’s rooms were white and gold. The furniture, walls, and carpeting in the antechamber and the bedroom were mostly white, in shocking contrast with the dark wood floors and door. Everything had delicate gold patterning on it, from the pattern woven into the rug to the molding where the ceiling and the walls met. His balcony looked out over the cliffs and the sea to the west, beyond his room, there was not another building in sight.

Jaime was awake, reclining against pillows with his knees drawn up. He read from a paper he was trying to hold flat against bent legs with his hand and the stunted end of his other arm.

His bed was ridiculously grand, it had four posts draped with richly embroidered white curtains and had the largest mattress she had ever seen. The bottom of the bed was skirted with embroidered gold fabric that matched the sheets and blankets.

He look small, she thought, curled up in the middle of all of it. It was a pleasing thought.

Jaime barely spared her a moment’s glance before turning back to the paper. “Tyrion still hasn’t listened to my request for a different aide, pity.”

Brienne bit her lip, moving towards the chair she’d stowed in the corner the previous night. “Did you sleep well?”

“Perhaps I still am,” Jaime snapped. “And this is a nightmare, that would certainly explain your face.”

Brienne considered retorting with something like, _how strange, I was just having the same thought._ But she always had preferred silence in the face of insults, no matter how Sansa encouraged her to take them. “Why don’t you get ready? I’m supposed to meet your brother in an hour.”

Jaime pushed himself up and slid along the wide mattress until he reached the edge. He maneuvered oddly, half using his arms to help his legs swing over the side of the bed.

Brienne averted her eyes until he was settled on the edge of the bed, the memory of her first morning with Jaime still prominent in mind when he had shouted at her for staring at him while he struggled.

Her pointing out that she was here to help him, not shame him for being unable to walk hadn’t gone over well then, either.

When she was sure he had settled, she offered him a forearm that he could use to pull himself up and pivoted as he limped across the space between his bed and his wheelchair.

Then, she helped him retrieve the clothes he wanted from the large bureau opposite the bed. His clothes, like everything else about the room, had clearly been altered for his new… situation. He never wore shirts that buttoned-up, in favor of sweaters or tee-shirts, and always wore slacks with no zippers and no buttons for him to do up. His shoes didn’t lace up, not even the ones he would wear to physical therapy.

She didn’t ask about it. But he had explained it to her the second morning she had tended to him. _My family doesn’t need to be bothered with helping me dress. I should be able to do it by myself now. Though I expect my father doubts my abilities to do even that if you’re here._

Brienne had very nearly been tempted to tell him to have a little more patience with himself, before remembering that she really didn’t care enough to inflict that argument on herself.

After he had dressed, she helped him into the bathroom where he brushed his teeth, straightened out his hair, and did… whatever other preening he needed to get ready for the day. Brienne waited outside, her shoulders pressed against the wall just outside the bathroom, leaning against it at an angle.

Then began the ordeal of getting him to the ground floor. A process which had, in her whole week of mornings with Jaime, never taken less than fifteen minutes. It generally involved her walking in front of, or beside Jaime, while he hung on to her arms with a white-knuckled grip that betrayed pain.

He stumbled over stairs regularly and never failed to blame her for it. “Stop pulling at my arm, wench.”

“Brienne.” She reminded flatly.

“What?” He snapped.

“My name,” She replied, forcing herself to sound as bored as she could. “It’s not wench, it’s Brienne.”

Jaime sneered at her. “As long as you keep trying to toss me down these stairs, I’ll call you what I want.”

For a moment she entertained the image of actually throwing him down the stairs. Instead, she jerked her head towards the hall below them.

“We should go, your sister will be at breakfast soon enough.”

Jaime liked to arrive before Cersei so Brienne could set out his breakfast so that he could eat it easily without help. Then, Brienne would be sent away. Apparently, Jaime detested appearing incapable in front of his twin and his father— neither of whom she had seen since their second day in Lannisport. But after the display at their breakfast together, she wasn’t surprised by the efforts Jaime went to.

“I’m not going to breakfast today,” Jaime said, his tone implying she should have already known that.

“Where to, then?” Brienne asked, careful to keep the same irritation from creeping into her voice.

Jaime shrugged. “I suppose I’ll go with you to the library.”

Brienne shot him an incredulous look. “I have to work.”

Jaime gesture between them. “Yes, and this is your job, wench.”

“I do… other things!”

“Yes, I’m sure they’re very, _very_ important,” Jaime said, words dripping in mock sympathy. “I promise I won’t interrupt.”

Brienne bit her lip. “Your brother will be there.”

Jaime laughed. “What? Did you think I was going to keep your company? You vastly overestimate how interesting you are.”

Brienne felt the hand not holding Jaime’s arm clench into a fist. _Gods, I really am going to kill him._

“Let’s just go.”

She helped him the rest of the way down the grand staircase without further incident and helped him sit on the last step while she returned to the top of the staircase for his wheelchair. It was awkward and difficult to carry down the staircase. Jaime’s snickering at her did very little to help the situation.

“Well done, Breena, I didn’t think you could manage it.”

“ _Brienne.”_ She retorted, setting the chair on the ground before him and holding her right hand out to pull him to his feet. “It’s ‘Brienne’ and you know it.”

Jaime took her hand and stood, laboriously. “ _Wench._ ”

If she pushed a little harder than necessary to force him into the chair, she really couldn’t be held responsible for it. He was _infuriating._

 _“_ Shall we?” Brienne said pointedly.

Jaime gestured at the hallway grandly with his right arm, before pulling it hurriedly back against his chest, as though just realizing that there was no hand at the end of it.

“Lead the way,”

*

The stack of books Tyrion had set out the night before was overwhelming. It blanketed three of the side tables, three stacks deep, each stack between five and ten books tall. He had kept the center table free for working and was already sitting there when Brienne rolled Jaime’s chair through the door.

If Tyrion was surprised to see his brother, he didn’t let it show. Sansa did, when she arrived, sending Brienne an alarmed look that she quickly waved aside. Sansa cornered her near the table where Tyrion had had a coffee tray set out and demanded an explanation in a low whisper.

Sansa grimaced and nodded and for the first time in the week since they arrived said they should have just stayed in King’s Landing. However, the moment passed quickly and she was teasing Tyrion about creating stacks he couldn’t reach the top of.

Tyrion blamed the decision on too much wine and Podrick being his assistant the previous evening.

“Where’s Arya?” Brienne wondered, once the rest of them now gathered around the table, and Jaime was comfortably settled on the sofa in front of the fireplace.

“She told me she was going into Lannisport with the gardener’s son,” Pod supplied, looking incredibly guilty. “Apparently he knew a museum she would like.”

Sansa and Brienne exchanged a frown. Brienne was half glad Arya had found something to do with her time and half praying that she wasn’t playing at what Sansa used to in secondary school. “Going to the museum” had had a very different meaning between Brienne and Sansa when Sansa had spoken of her high school girlfriend. Both of them were hoping this wasn’t the same situation.

“Why didn’t she tell me?” Sansa muttered.

Pod shrugged. “Maybe she thought you wouldn’t be receptive.”

“Well, I’m not!”

“Isn’t she an adult?” Jaime was leaning backward over the arm of the sofa to look at them.

“Quiet,” Podrick and Sansa snapped at him, any disagreement of Arya’s whereabouts forgotten within the span of four words.

“You’re proving my point.”

Brienne stepped in front of him, blocking him from Sansa and Pod’s view. Jaime immediately remedied this, maneuvering himself to hang over the back of the sofa

“Just because none of you have ever been on a date doesn’t mean you need to spoil it for Anna.”

“ _Arya,”_ Pod corrected incredulously before adding defensively. “And we’ve been on dates.”

Brienne winced. The look of glee spreading over Jaime’s face at Pod’s defensiveness was not exactly promising. Poor boy.

Jaime hummed in agreement. “I can definitely see it with the older Stark, and you’re all right, but I just don’t think Tarth is anyone’s type.”

Sansa stepped towards Jaime, moving around Brienne but Brienne was quicker. Her right hand landed on Sansa’s left, stopping her from advancing further.

Jaime rolled his eyes at her. “My knight in shining armor, gods Tarth, you really don’t think I could take her?”

“No.”

“I bet I could take you.” Jaime retorted, childishly. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, seeing as you’ve never been on a date?”

Sansa shook him off. “ _Lannister, I swear—“_

“Okay, enough.” Tyrion hadn’t stepped in before now but he sounded so frustrated that it could have fooled anyone into thinking that he had been fighting them the whole time.

“Jaime, you can’t be here if we can’t work around you. And I asked you to be decent to my students, after all, you invited them here.” Tyrion pivoted, rounding on her with an apology in his eyes. “Do I even have to…”

Brienne shook her head and turned away from him and Sansa to the table behind them, piled high with books. _This,_ this was what mattered— she turned her attention to selecting books that were most relevant to her work. One was a compilation of old battle plans, another, a collection of letters sent by the Septon at Casterly Rock just before the war. The third was an accounting book kept in the two years prior to the battle.

There was an empty table near the door that had been propped open on the far side of the room. Brienne deposited the books there and angled the chair so she could look through the open door to the outdoors.

Libraries this old were so dark, full of old things that needed protection from the sun. Brienne never failed to feel claustrophobic in them, regardless of how much time she spent cooped up in such places.

She flipped open the book of battle plans, tracing her fingers over the old paper. The book was printed and had only replications of the original battle plans that were doubtless in a museum somewhere, but the book must have been half a century old by now and the paper crinkled pleasantly between her thumb and forefinger. She pulled her notebook out of her bookbag— it was a nice one with a golden spine that Sansa had given her for the trip. Ten of its pages were already filled with her tight script from yesterday’s outing into Lannisport.

She reviewed the notes— they had been asking people about their community and its past, what people thought now and how it was treated. Well, Pod had done the asking, and Brienne had done the writing. They had found plenty of people who had ventured to the ruins of Casterly Rock as teenagers, with more than a few strange occurrences reported. Though Brienne suspected that such things were more due to drugs and alcohol than anything truly strange.

There had been a few others who promised to ask parents or show her their family heirlooms that dated back to the war. Plenty of people all over Westeros were descendants of the last of the knights, and Lannisport was no exception to the rule. There had even been one man who claimed that his family was in possession of a dragon scale from the wreckage of Old Casterly Rock.

“Now that, we have to see,” Podrick had said— and Brienne had carefully noted the phone number of the young man who had bragged about it.

She trailed her finger over the note and felt a small thrill of excitement at the notion of seeing such a thing. There were always the rumors that dragon bones were beneath King’s Landing but she had never gotten the clearance to prove it. And the only other tangible evidence of the existence of dragons were the burnt shells of Old Casterly Rock and a handful of other old keeps, like Harrenhal. Old Casterly Rock was the one she had yet to see.

Surely after reading over the old plans, she would be able to hurry Tyrion into taking her to the scene.

She flipped past a brief introduction that seemed to be things she’d read hundreds of times. She even recognized the name of the scholar who had written it from dozens of other works she had read. On the eighth page was a rendering of the battle plan accompanied by photos from f the original scroll— signed by Ser Kevan Lannister I, infamous former commander of the Lannister army.

Tyrion snorted as he looked over her shoulder. Brienne jumped, she hadn’t heard him come up behind her.

“I’ve got an uncle named after him, poor bastard.”

Brienne felt a twinge of pity for the man, named for one of the greatest military failures in Westerosi history. She would hate to be named for the man who lost the second biggest and the wealthiest keep in the kingdom.

She said as much to Tyrion, absently, already beginning to mark down key positions in her notebook.

_Archers on the wall._

_Trebuchets and a small division of the Lannister army a top the hill. A feint._

_The other divisions concealed behind the castle to attacking the Targaryen from the side._

She marked down the professor’s critiques of the strategy and how he believed that if they had gone with they feint, they may have had a better chance. Difficult terrain was the reason the plan had been scrapped.

Brienne repeated with the next plan.

_Archers on the wall._

_The Lannister Navy was in the bay._

And repeated it again. Brienne began sketching out her own diagram if the castle to mark up as she read, completely lost in trying to piece together everything.

It took Tyrion four tries to pull her away from the work to look at something he had found in his own reading. She remained distracted as she sat in the chair to the right of Tyrion, and Sansa assumed the spot to his right. Pod hurried to join them, leaning on his forearms against the back of Brienne’s chair.

Tyrion flicked through the pages of the large book before him. Brienne cast a cursory glance over the page and discovered that it was narrative of the fall of Casterly Rock. She was faintly surprised that Tyrion had spent his morning looking at the same thing as she had been doing. His interests were usually much more eclectic.

When she teased him for it, Tyrion returned it with a tired look. “Many things here concern that night, it was quite influential, but more importantly, look here.”

He pointed to a strange illumination at the bottom of the page; a tessellated of horses and knights outlined in red and gold ink.

Another Tyrion Lannister oddity.

Sansa laughed. “It’s an illustration, plenty of old books have them. What’s the fuss?”

“It’s not like that, the book is much older than the illustration.” Tyrion looked to her for her opinion, though she had nothing more to offer.

“This is a handwritten document, maybe the author got bored halfway down the page.”

Podrick snorted— at least someone thought she was funny.

“It’s irrelevant. You’re getting too paranoid in your old age.”

Tyrion glowered at her. “You always humor me.”

“Do your worst, then,”

“It matches one or more other documents and makes a code.” Tyrion offered.

Brienne studied the document. “No, look, it won’t connect to anything, it’s too far from the edges of the page.”

Brienne ignored whatever Tyrion said next, his endless theorizing testing her endless patience. Of course, he had an answer to her arguments, sound, and sensible as she knew they were.

The entry on the page was written by a squire who had survived the knight of the battle.

_My lord had bid me wait in the inner keep until I was summoned. The night was very strange. Even the servants had abandoned their duties as though they knew what was to transpire. Two of them, I found, cowering in one of the guest chambers. It is just as well that I sent them away because the part of the keep where I was hidden came down a short while later. I ran, and I tried to bring others but no one was faster than the flames._

The narrative went on to describe how the castle crumbled, and the smell of people burning. Brienne shuddered and returned her attention to Tyrion, still atop his soapbox theorizing about what the drawing could mean.

Podrick tapped her on the shoulder, a pleading look on his face as his eyes flickered towards Tyrion.

Brienne put her hand over the drawing. “You’re overthinking it, let’s move on, shall we?”

Behind them, Jaime guffawed at her words. “At least she’s smart enough to stop you from trying to bring down Father with more of this nonsense.”

“Stop eavesdropping!” Tyrion snapped. For a moment, the two of them sounded just like Arya and Bran in one of their childish spats instead of the strangest people in Westeros.

“Finally found something we’re on the same page about, wench,” Jaime said, twisting to look at her. “My brother’s a lunatic.”

*

The dimly lit bar was loud, but more due to it overcrowded than rowdy. The hum of many conversations, and glasses clinking working together to nearly to drown out the sound of the band playing at the opposite end of the bar. Which was just as well, because they were dreadful.

The interior walls were rough, untreated wood, covered with various knick-knacks, old signs, paintings, and the like. Round golden lights hung low over each booth, shedding warm light in a small radius.

Their booth was cramped, it had been comfortable when it was just the four of them, huddled together in one of the alcoves facing the bay. They had watched the sunset behind the ships gathered in the harbor during dinner, sparkling off the ocean and washing the colorful stucco walls of the seaside buildings in orange light. It had been pleasant— the many disagreements left behind them in the library, Sansa’s annoyance at Arya for running off for the day was still simmering, and the girl nowhere to be found— which had been the only source of disagreement between Tyrion and the rest of them for once.

The comfortable chatter had died quickly enough when, in a stunning turn of events; both of Tyrion’s siblings had joined them as they finished dessert, and insisted on ordering another round of drinks.

Tyrion’s panicked face, when the Lannister twins walked in the door, wasn’t reassuring.

The fact that the ever unflappable Jaime Lannister seemed uncomfortable with the situation was downright alarming.

Pod and Sansa, who sat between the Lannisters and Brienne, caging her against the window engaged her in conversation, leaving the entertainment of his siblings entirely to Tyrion. Pod was the most at ease, chatting about a curious painting he had seen in one of the hall galleries that afternoon.

His enthusiasm for it was enough to momentarily distract her from the underlying hum of concern playing in the background of her thoughts.

Cersei Lannister kept casting suspicious glances her way, a fact that was deeply alarming. Though, there wasn’t a thing about the woman that made her feel at ease. She wore her hair down in long waves and looked impossibly glamorous even in simple black trousers and a red blouse. She never really smiled, if her lips curled up, or she bared her teeth; she was sneering. At Tyrion, or the men who looked at her as they passed by— a silent warning to anyone who crossed her eye line.

Brienne kept well out of it. Eyes on the table. Eyes on Pod talking animatedly. Eyes closed for a brief moment, shutting out the world in front of her but for the bar lights’ shadows lingering on her eyelids. Every so often she let herself look to Jaime, and once he was looking at her. His eyes were dull and angry and striking as ever, but, lit with a spark of apprehension.

“Brienne Tarth,”

She glanced up at her name, shocked to find Cersei the one saying it. “Hmmm?”

“Is that where you’re from originally? Tarth?” Cersei’s tone suggested very much that saying yes would do little to impress her.

Brienne nodded absently. “I haven’t been there in many years.”

“Yes,” Cersei acknowledged, clearly knowing that already. “Who could forget, so regrettable what happened to Evenfall, it was a lovely town. Or so I’m told.”

“I barely remember it.” She confessed, her voice stiff as she focused on maintaining its neutrality. Inside, it was like little cracks were forming in the walls that kept all of those unpleasant memories at bay.

“And you’ve found your way into working for my brothers, must be quite a story,”

“A long string of coincidences,” Brienne brushed it aside, beginning to wonder if the interrogation would ever end.

Her questions were friendly enough but the maddened going in her eye made the conversation, short as it was, feel like a minefield moments away from destroying her.

Cersei opened her mouth as though to say something again but Jaime cut her off, blurting out. “What’s your dissertation on?”

The look on her face must have been comical. Tyrion snorted into his wine glass and a look of amusement played over Pod’s face.

Brienne forced herself to not look surprised, to not feel surprised, to return to neutrality and apprehension of his next insult. “It’s on the political and military failings of the Targaryen regime, and how the intersection brought about their demise.”

Jaime just looked thoughtful, though a significant glance passed between himself and his twin. “So you came here, to the sight of the Targaryen’s most famous victory over the rebels?”

Brienne shrugged. “The flip side of failure is success, it’s important to know when their strategy worked for them.”

Cersei chuckled, surprisingly good-natured. “Forgive Jaime his questions, Miss Tarth, he’s never been quick on the uptake.”

“I gathered, he keeps forgetting my name.”

Tyrion and Sansa laughed loudly, Tyrion clinking his glass against Brienne’s and sloshing some of his wine on her hand.

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Brie,”

Cersei pressed on. “And what is it you two do with my brother?”

“Assist him with his work. Work for our education.” Sansa rattled off, sounding bored. “What do you do?”

Cersei smiled. “A great many things, Miss Stark. Tell me, how is your mother doing?”

Sansa grimaced, then forced a smile. Her parents, her mother in particular— and Brienne’s father for that matter were quite delicate topics for any of them. “She’s alright. She still has her hands full with Bran, and the business.”

“She and your father still getting along, Brienne? My father did seem so surprised she could have replaced Mr. Stark so easily.”

The truth of it was that Catelyn and Selwyn hadn’t married for any love between them, but to protect their children. With Ned viewed as a traitor to the King, and Selwyn under suspicion after the battle of Tarth, it had been some scheme. Two people who fell in love in the face of loss and trauma, and ran away North with their children to shield them from the politics of it all.

Brienne had been fooled by it for maybe a year before she understood why her father had done what he had. And why she answered questions with the same line any time someone who was anyone decided to ask her about it.

It happened often enough, friends of Tyrion or people she met at events through the university had no qualms about such prying.

“Happy as ever, it’s good they found each other after everything.”

“It’s been good for them,” Sansa agreed. “And just wonderful for Arya and I, and Brandon to have a new sister.”

It hadn’t always been wonderful, Sansa and Arya, in particular, had resented her for years after their parents married. Just as they had resented her father— both of them taking places previously held by their late brothers Robb and Rickon, and their father. Brienne had resented them right back, as she resented Catelyn.

When they were older, they realized their parents’ refusal to speak of everyone they had lost had been about their safety, not coldness.

Eventually, in secondary school, she and Sansa had grown closer, and by the time university rolled around, they were quite inseparable. Not that anything exciting had happened in Brienne’s life since her second year of undergraduate, but the pair of them shared everything.

Cersei seemed disappointed by the answer but nodded coolly. “Well, I hope your return to Lannisport is less eventful than the last, in the best way, of course”

Lannisport was, of course, the first port they had landed in after escaping Tarth and spending weeks at sea. It was where they had found the Starks in hiding, and Catelyn had hatched her plan with Selwyn. It was where Brienne knew for absolute certain that over half her family was gone, and she was _never_ going home.

Yet something in the Lannister sister’s tone made her think this time would be more eventful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> -B


	4. Chapter 4

143 AC - OLD CASTERLY ROCK

Jaime could _run_ , Brienne was surprised to discover.

Though she supposed, only when the situation warranted it. His features were twisted, braced against how badly it must have hurt.

Pity that going back in time hadn’t undone whatever had happened to him.

They made their way down the spiraling staircase at the end of the hall and burst into a grand, ground-level hallway. They drew the attention of the guards standing near the doors at the end of the hall, but only for a moment before the two cracked a joke about them and turned away.

She slipped through another door, the first one she saw off to her left, dragging Jaime with her. The door led to a service courtyard— stacked high with firewood and nondescript crates. Across the courtyard, a woman was scolding a child, words completely obscured by her accent.

Jaime tugged her into an alcove partially covered by crates. “What’s the plan?”

Brienne blinked at him. He had been the first one to run off, dragging her out of the keep— if anyone was going to have a plan, it ought to have been him.

“I don’t know.”

Jaime scowled at her. “Well, make one, you’re going to be a doctor of this battle specifically, isn’t there something you could do?“

Brienne scowled, her lips parting slightly as she prepared to snap at him that her dissertation had to do with this only in a small part. _That was a very secondary concern,_ she realized.

_If only she had been able to finish her notes on what plan the Lannisters had gone with._

“The main keep was one of the first things to burn, we should start with getting away from it.” Horror shuddered through her at the thought that there was a dragon somewhere nearby.

Jaime nodded. His jaw tightened slightly, a look of plain dread flashing through his eyes as quickly as it disappeared.

Something softened a little within her at the look, he was in pain and clearly a lot of it.

“What?” Jaime snapped, and she realized she must have been too silent for too long and was sure to be wearing an odd expression.

“Your back.” Brienne began. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

Jaime glared at her. “Of course it does. Tell me, does that change how fucked we are if we keep standing under a building that’s about to collapse?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll manage.”

She fixed him with another hard look, briefly considering if she should try to carry him. Leaving him in the dust wasn’t much of an option— unfortunately, she needed him. But it might slow them down if she did.

Jaime elbowed her, gesturing to the arched entryway to the courtyard across the way. It led into a small tunnel, she thought, and through it, she could make out the glow of a fire.

“Wench, we don’t know how long we have.”

Again, it was Jaime spurring her into action. His good hand closing around hers, dragging her as he walked quickly across the courtyard.

A shove of wind drove them towards the entranceway, chilling her, cutting though the thin fabric of her blouse. Brienne paused and shivered, looking around to see where it had come from.

_Dragons._

“Don’t look,” Jaime warned with a tight voice, his hand tightening in hers as he ducked into the darkness of the tunnel.

The darkness closed around them, the only light was the blurred glimmer of a fire a few dozen yards in front of them. Brienne blinked furiously trying to accustom her eyes to the dark.

A cry— like a bird’s screech intermingled with a lion’s roar— sounded out.

Jaime screamed. Brienne thought she might have screamed too but it was hard to hear the blood suddenly rushing in her ears, and her heart slamming in her chest. Jaime’s hand was clutching her wrist tightly, his stumped arm resting on hers a bit higher up.

“ _Come on!”_

Any desire Brienne had ever had to see a real dragon, or _part_ of a real dragon, died very quickly and very violently as the thing roared again followed by a deafening hissing and crackling.

Jaime dragged her from the tunnel, and across another, much bigger courtyard, stopping against the wall furthest from the keep. Behind them, the tunnel they fled was suddenly illuminated by a burst of fire.

“Oh gods,” Brienne muttered in spite of herself. “Oh, fuck.”

Jaime nodded, releasing her hand so he could push his hair from his face. It was a wonder he was so calm. Instead of looking terrified, he was pinning her with a very amused look, as though she had just done something terribly embarrassing.

_Oh, gods, had she?_

“What?” She snapped, even though now wasn’t the time.

“You screamed,” Jaime said, a mischevious, self-satisfied smile spreading over his features.

“Oh fuck off, you did too.”

“No, I didn’t, I’m not—“

Brienne punched him in the stomach again, lighter than back in the room in the keep but enough that he cut off. “Where are we going next?”

Jaime glanced around them, they must have been in the entryway courtyard, because much of the castle lay before them, and a bit off to their right. Brienne had seen plenty of old murals and architectural sketches— too many for them not to blend together, but enough for this to look familiar enough. Jaime must have been to the ruins hundreds of times, and this area was intact enough, or so Tyrion said.

But, the wall would come down at some point. _It’s not there in our time._

Just over the interior wall, a bolt of light streaked through the pitch-black sky— illuminating _it; the dragon_ from underneath as it soared high enough above to escape the light of the castle fires. It was enormous, blocking huge swaths of the sky with its wings and black as night allowing it to move through the sky unnoticed by her panicked eye. Its legs were larger than her entire body, its talons were as long as her legs, ending in gleaming, pointed claws that blazed orange in the firelight. From this angle, she could barely make out its face, or head, but imagined she would be able to stand between its jaws at her fully height— before it ate her.

Her question to Jaime was long forgotten. He was staring up, open-mouthed, almost innocent wonder on his face. For, of course, he would be fool enough to moon over the dragon rather than answer her question and get them away from the dragon.

Brienne was watching Jaime’s face as the main keep exploded, brilliantly illuminating the courtyard. His eyes reflected the orange light, highlighting his green irises, and she noticed how his eyes flickered, excitement, to fear, to rage, and back to fear as he turned to her.

People were screaming. Brienne wanted to scream too, but she was certain if she let herself think too hard about the burning castle, she would freeze up and die. So, she kept looking at Jaime, refusing to turn her head to an all-too-familiar sight.

“Where did it go?”

She scarcely got the word out before another gust of wind buffeted the courtyard, accompanied by the sounds of wings buffeting the air. Still, she didn’t take her eyes off Jaime’s.

Jaime jerked his head backward, indicating that it had flown over the wall. “We’re running out of time. The battle of Casterly Rock was not a long one.”

Brienne nodded her agreement. “Where do we go?”

“That tower,” He begins, his voice so small for someone who had looked so triumphantly only moments before. “It sustained the least damage— Tyrion and I played in it as children, we can go there.”

“And then do what?”

“Wait for this to be over!” Jaime snapped. “Stick close to the wall, if _it_ sees us enter, it will burn the tower.”

“I thought you—“

“What we do could change things, and then we’re _really_ fucked.”

Brienne nodded, even though just thinking about it made her head spin with confusion. Jaime pulled her towards the tower, he was limping now, bracing his right arm against the stone wall as he circled the courtyard towards the tower.

“Would the ground floor or the top floor be safer?” Brienne wondered aloud.

“Ground floor,” Jaime answered confidently, and then, nearly tripped on a dead soldier. “Oh, _gods._ ”

“How…” Brienne looked around the courtyard and saw a figure— maybe a shadow, disappearing through a side door beyond the tower. “I think they’ve gotten though the walls.”

“All the more reason to get out of here.” Jaime stooped and took the sword of the soldier and handed it to her. She took it, unthinking and nonplussed. He stooped again and when he stood, was holding another one.

“He had two,” Jaime said in way of an explanation. “Why did knights do that? I never understood that.”

Brienne was weighing the sword in her hand and only half heard him. “What am I going to do with this?”

“If the Targaryens come after us, you better learn how to use it because I don’t think I’ll be much good.” Jaime held up his stumped hand. “I was right-handed.”

Brienne grimaced and started towards the tower again without glancing to make sure Jaime followed. She had to keep her eyes on the ground, not on the dragon. “I don’t know if I can—“

His footsteps made an erratic pattern on the cobblestone ground as he hurried to catch her. “You basically have to, I’ll be unable to walk soon enough.”

Brienne ignored the flicker of concern. If he had reinjured himself, surely it would be permanent, there were no maesters of the caliber he required if they were truly so far back in the past. Brienne doubted even the best maesters that Stark money could buy could do the procedures Jaime had needed.

“You can sit all you want in the tower.” She grumbled. “Leave the fighting to me if there is any,”

They stepped up to the door and Brienne shoved it open; it was awfully heavy and groaned in protest at being moved. Thankfully, there were enough other noises, many of them far more alarming than an old door, ringing through the castle that night.

She turned to watch Jaime hobble through the door and caught a glimpse of the billowing smoke and flames flickering high into the sky from beyond the interior wall. Her breath froze in her chest, the pressure of air stuck there nearly choking her.

_Fire blazed in the place where the town had stood just hours before; stretching from seashore upwards into the hills of Tarth where the buildings thinned and the trees began._

“Brienne!” A hand closed around her wrist and yanked her inside, her hand still on the handle of the door pulled it shut behind them with a loud _bang._ Jaime was holding her wrist and his sword with one hand, the cold metal hilt digging into the soft underside of her arm. They staggered together for a moment, limbs tangled hopelessly together, it was a wonder that they stayed upright.

Brienne tried to jerk away from him but succeeded only in losing her balance. She stumbled into Jaime side, and bounced back into the wall— her breath was ragged, continually catching in her throat.

Jaime pushed her to sit down against the wall and collapsed beside her with a pained groan. “What’s out there? What’s wrong with you?”

She finally got her hand free and raised both arms over her head, knitting her fingers together across the back of her neck as she forced herself to take a few deep breaths.

“What is it?” Jaime insisted, his voice jumping significantly higher.

“Nothing, leave me alone, Lannister.”

“You saw something!” Jaime insisted. “If I’m at risk of dying, I’d like to make a plan. If I’m literally on the verge of death you could at least give me a warning. You can’t honestly not trust me right now, I’m the only person in the world who also is seeing all of this shit.”

“Where I’m from—“

“Tarth”

Brienne shot him an incredulous look at the interruption.

“See? I know… things about you, you can trust me.”

“That really makes me think I shouldn’t, and I was about to tell you.”

“Oh, then do go on— on Tarth,”

“I was there during the battle. I was quite young.” Brienne hurried. “The burning castle looks a bit like it.”

She waited for Jaime to laugh, but instead, he nodded and stared at the floor, his mouth twisting in some emotion she couldn’t quite read.

“I’m sorry.”

Brienne shrugged, focused on readjusting her sword to lay across her lap, it was heavier than most of the ones Tyrion had in the office. Though, those were mostly Braavosi weapons, which Tyrion’s dissertation had had something to do with. He had talked about it so much when he was first made a professor that she had never felt the need to read it.

“It’s fine, now, I suppose I’m not around burning castles enough for it not to…” She trailed off, uncertain of what to say. She changed tracks after a moment’s deliberation and another moment to catch her breath. “How’re your legs?”

Jaime grimaced. “I can still feel them, which is more promising than it sounds.”

They fell silent in the same moment, drawing in a sharp breath in unison at what they heard. Outside in the courtyard, men were screaming, and there were the undeniable wet-sounding thumps and squelches of blades cutting through skin— hitherto known only from how it sounded in videos.

It was a long time before anyone cried out, and then all she could hear was the battlecries of the men in the courtyard. Unconsciously her hand tightened on the sword, instinctively preparing to use it though she was certain she wouldn’t know what to do with it once she tried.

It was quiet in the tower for a moment longer, the noises of battle outside hanging in the air with the intensifying tension and fear hanging between them, each making the other seem worse and worse. None of it felt real.

Something slammed into the door— Brienne felt herself, and Jaime at her shoulder seize up on the noise. Yet the door didn’t budge; outside, she heard coughing and gargling and the sound of metal tearing through flesh.

Jaime let out a long breath at the sounds of retreating footsteps which were audible for the barest of moments before being swallowed up by the noise of battle.

“You never found any corpses in here with Tyrion, did you?” Brienne asked nervously, trying for a joking tone, but failing with the wavering in her voice.

Jaime shook his head. “We found two old swords.”

Brienne glanced down at the two they held— nothing fancy, nondescript, run-of-the-mill service weapons, from the looks of it. She suddenly felt very cold.

“They’re hanging in one of my father’s galleries now, he always says it's a miracle they weren’t stolen long ago, but he refused to buy into the fact that everyone says this place is cursed and haunted.”

Brienne was about to ask if he thought these were the swords that his father now owned.

Her question died on her lips and flew from her mind when the door was thrown open and three soldiers in red, Targaryen armor, burst in.

THE PRESENT — NEW CASTERLY ROCK

A week later found her in much the same place as the week before. In the library at Casterly Rock, folded into one of the large armchairs sitting around the fireplace. Her legs were too long to tuck underneath her when she sat sideways in the chair, they dangled over the arm of the chair, swaying as she kicked them absently.

A book was resting in her lap; a heavy volume containing various memorandums sent by the small council. She was currently reading those dating years and year before the war, but there was the most fascinating situation that kept cropping up between the Iron Bank and the king’s small council. She often forgot that she was meant to be taking notes on what she learned from the documents, too engaged in the conversations flowing between the former Master of Whispers and Master of War.

It was a rainy morning that had passed quickly between two hundred pages of memos after sending Jaime off with his sister for the day.

Sansa was laying on the sofa beside her, writing furiously in her notebook. Podrick was sitting opposite her, book held in front of his face, legs propped up on the coffee table. Arya was nowhere to be found— she had come back every evening since they’d been there in time for dinner, but exhausted. She and the gardener’s son, a boy by the name of Gendry, had apparently been having a splendid time running about the cliffs and caves and beaches that Westerland had to offer. Brienne reckoned that more than a few of the days they spent gallivanting around were within the walls o the castle; snooping into the Lannisters’ things.

Tyrion was absent as he had been for the much of the last week, popping up only once the day before to make sure they were still finding ways to occupy themselves.

Sansa had laughed off his questions and assured him that they had kept very busy in the library all week, omitting the fact that they had wandered about for half the afternoons, trying to find things mentioned in a book Sansa read to no avail.

Tyrion kept pushing off the trip they would need to make to the ruins of the old Casterly Rock estate. Again and again, he told them— usually through notes scribbled and left on the library table that he required more meeting before he would be ready.

Sansa snapped her notebook shut, casting it aside on the coffee table alongside her pencil. “Brienne, let’s try again, Tyrion’s nowhere to be seen, he won’t know.”

Sansa had become infatuated with finding an old cottage where the former princess of the Westerlands would meet with important officials. Sansa said it was the site of many vital political agreements leading up to the Great War, and that there might be documents or evidence left over.

Brienne was certain that the place was long gone, or disappeared and was about to say as much when both doors to the library swung open and Tyrion strode in, as grandly as he could manage with his uneven gait.

“My dear students,”

“He returns…” Podrick grumbled bitterly.

“I come bearing wonderful news— after all of your pleading and whinging for the past eight days, I have decided, it is time to visit the ruins.”

Podrick and Brienne closed their books, rising in a hurry.

“Thank the gods,” Podrick grumbled. “I am _bored_.”

Tyrion tossed him a withering look, not taking kindly to the work he so loved doing being criticized.

“Just for that, we go tomorrow.”

*

The high back and arms of her chair made her feel as though she was sitting on a throne, even though she was only sitting before a round dining table. The table was large enough for at least ten people, though only three places were set out, and food covered much of the rest of the table.

Brienne leaned a bit further forward, twisting towards Jaime beside her, her hand working a little hard to cut through a particularly tough piece of the meat she was currently dicing for him.

Jaime was sitting stiffly, too straight in the chair to her right. In his wheelchair, he had a pillow to support his lower spine that he wouldn’t let her put behind him now. _Tywin wouldn’t like it._

Brienne had rolled her eyes at Jaime calling his father Tywin, Jaime had scoffed at her and looked away.

Now, he was doing his best to pretend she wasn’t leaning halfway into his personal space to set up his food so he could easily eat it— his eyes fixed on the spot where the ceiling met the wall high above them.

This dining room was one she hadn’t yet been too. It was a cavernous, circular room, interlocking arches support the ceiling high above them— six pillars meeting in a point from which a large chandelier of gold-coated steel was suspended. The lights on the chandelier were electric, now, but Brienne could make out the holes were candles would have been placed years ago.

The table and all its chairs were the only furniture pieces in the room, though a few tapestries covered long, vertical stretches of the wall. Where the tapestries did not cover, there were tall, thin windows that cast long beams of golden evening light across the floor until they bent upwards along the opposite wall.

The door swung open; the sound it made swallowed by the sheer size of the room. The light spilling in from the hallway prompted Jaime to turned his head, his face instantly falling.

Brienne turned her head to see Tywin and Cersei entering the room, deep in a conversation of their own. Jaime shot her an irritated look, as though it were all her fault that they were early.

She turned back to cutting his food until Jaime brushed her aside.

“Leave.”

Brienne’s eyes widened in shock.

“I’ll manage for now. My father won’t want to see you here.”

Brienne set his knife and fork aside and pushed her chair back. _Good luck getting Cersei Lannister to help you._ She might have said as much to him if the woman in question wasn’t closing in behind her.

“Brienne Tarth,”

Brienne’s inside felt like they were crackling with the strange, tense electricity that seemed to exist between any two Lannisters. A vaguely threatening and deeply unsettling tension and sense of disquiet surged through her, and her better sense told her to _run._

Brienne turned and saw Jaime copy her, his face twisting in confusion similar to how she must have looked upon realizing that it was Tywin Lannister calling out to her as he moved towards his place to Jaime’s right.

“Mister Lannister,” Brienne replied, her stomach cringed in mortification at her pitchy, terrified voice. Even Jaime cast her a look of pure amusement.

“I was just leaving,” she continued. “Jaime just needed—“

“Sit down, girl,” Tywin said, his good-naturedness even in giving commands was unanticipated.

Brienne opened her mouth, mind desperately grasping at any excuse, and preferably one that wouldn’t sound like one. Though the longer she debated, the more and more anything she said would sound like an excuse.

“If you’re going to be following my son around for the foreseeable future, we may as well get to know each other.”

“I couldn’t possibly—“

“You can. In fact, I insist on it.”

Brienne withered under his stare and settled back in her chair, relieved to be able to sit with her rapidly weakening legs.

“Jaime, give her your other plate,” Tywin said, his tone biting.

Jaime nodded beginning to struggle with moving one plate off of the other, clumsy in his efforts to rearrange the dinnerware set out before him. Brienne might’ve stepped in if not for the expectant look on Tywin’s face, and the growing impatience with his son.

Cersei settled on Tywin’s other side, not acknowledging her at all as she began taking food from the dishes in the center of the table, and serving wine from the bottle for her father, herself, and Jaime.

Tywin settled in his seat when Jaime had passed his plate to Brienne, sitting still until she had put food on her own plate before getting some of his own. All the while, Cersei and Jaime exchanged uncomfortable looks, their eyes darting between her, their father, and each other as though they conversed entirely in the spaces of blinks and minute movements.

Tywin cleared his throat. “Miss Tarth, you’re a student at King’s?”

Brienne nodded. “For my doctorate, sir.”

Tywin nodded. “An excellent institution, I went there myself. I had hoped one of these two might go there, as well but they never quite had the marks for it.”

Brienne nodded. It didn’t go unnoticed that he didn’t seem to include Tyrion’s attendance, and now employment at the university in his consideration at all.

“Very admirable of you to sacrifice so much of your time to care for Jaime, though I suppose Tyrion mentioned we are paying you. But, I can’t imagine the heiress to the Tarth name wants for too much.”

Brienne smiled tightly. “It’s a bit more complicated for us now that no one lives on Tarth, my father lives in Wintertown now, married to—“

“Catelyn Stark. Gods, but I’d forgotten.” Tywin shook his head, his tone and expression a mockery of honesty.

“Surely Stark money covers what you need, though I’m sure you find my brother’s company welcome,” Cersei said sweetly. “I don’t imagine you meet many men,”

“Cersei—“

“ _Like him,_ many men like him.”

“Hush,” Tywin chided, and Cersei managed to look chastised, casting her eyes downwards. Tywin cast her an apologetic glance that nonetheless demanded an answer to his daughter’s assertion.

“I’m independent.” Brienne was spared the need of elaborating further on her financial situation as the door opened and a harried-looking servant hurried in with a piece of paper that he quickly pressed into Cersei’s hands before leaving.

The door slammed behind the servant, seeming to take the air in the room with it. Jaime and Tywin straightened in their seats, neither took in a sharp draw of breath. But they may as well have done with the tension that suddenly coursed through both of them.

She would be assuredly better off not knowing what the disturbance was about. So, Brienne tried not to be curious, failing almost instantly.

Cersei flicked the note open, scanned it, crumpled it and tossed it on the table with a nonchalance not matched by her father’s and brother’s countenances.

“A message from—“

Jaime cleared his throat, a sharp edge to his voice as he ground out a warning. “Perhaps we could save this for a more private time.”

Cersei’s expression changed to one of exasperation. “Oh honestly, what is she going to do?”

Jaime turned to her. “You can leave,”

For a moment, Brienne imagined that there was a note of desperation in his eyes, or fear, or something. But it must have been anger, and annoyance at having her mixed up in things far above her station.

She looked at her plate, food untouched and long-forgotten during Tywin’s interrogation. Then, she turned her gaze to the head Lannister, who was paying them barely half a mind.

He waved an absent hand at her. “Yes, Miss Tarth, it was lovely speaking with you…”

She shot up, shoving aside offense at being dismissed in such a manner in favor of relief at being allowed to leave. Jaime stared up at her, and then quickly away, turning back to Cersei and Tywin and whatever was in the letter.

“Our contact at Storm’s End assures us that she will be able to do it,” Cersei said quietly, her voice still traveling in the dead silence of the room. “She said only that Stannis might be a problem. What a pity we can’t send Jaime to take care of him, not with his… condition.”

 _What in seven hells?_ Brienne almost turned, her curiosity at Cersei’s words suddenly excruciating, almost overpowering the sense of dread shuddering through her at all the possible implications.

Perhaps, she thought, shoving it all aside would be best. What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her, or Sansa, or Arya.

Brienne shut the door.

*

Everyone was shut away in their own rooms when Brienne slipped back into their apartment. But Sansa darted out of hers the moment the doors closed behind her, her brows drawn together in worry.

“You’re late.”

Brienne brushed a hand through her hair and leaned against the side table, letting her shoulders slump forward in exhaustion. “Tywin Lannister can talk for surprisingly long amounts of time.”

Sansa crossed the room and helped Brienne take off her coat. “Maybe that’s where Jaime gets it from.” She spat Jaime’s name with contempt. “Honestly, he thinks he can monopolize your evening as well?”

Brienne shrugged and turned her attention to toeing off her shoes. “He was the least of my problems tonight if you would believe it.”

Sansa pursed her lips. “Cersei?”

Brienne nodded, allowing the dread she felt during the dinner conversation to course through her and pressed her eyes shut. “They’re up to something awful, I’m sure.”

Sansa settled on the couch. “Like how bad?”

Brienne widened her eyes, eyebrows arching in a silent _very._ “Not to do with us, but what people say about them is certainly not wrong.”

Sansa grimaced. “I’m sorry you’re tangled up in it now, you won’t have to see him ever again soon enough.”

Brienne nodded, settling in the armchair across from Sansa and reaching for the book she had left lying on the coffee table— a novel, this time, one she was reading for fun yet hadn’t had the time of day for in ages. She was looking forward to reading it and not thinking about the Lannisters or their strange problems until she absolutely had to.

“Your father called,” Sansa said lightly, thumbing through the pages of her own book as she tucked her legs up underneath her. “He’s not best pleased you haven’t called since the night we arrived, you didn’t even tell him about Jaime yet?”

Brienne set the book aside and cast a mournful glance at it before taking the phone off the receiving and lifted it to her ears. She punched in their home telephone number and waited as the dial tone played three times.

“Hey, Brienne,” Bran, her step brother’s voice came through the phone, slightly staticky.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Just a feeling,” Bran said cryptically. “Well, Sel’s been waiting on your call back and it seems late enough for you to actually be done doing things. How was dinner with Tywin Lannister?”

Brienne sighed and glared at Sansa. “Eventful. Has Sansa been telling you everything about my life?”

“It’s because hers is so boring right now.” Bran said flatly. “No gardener’s son, no dashing Lannister heir to keep her busy.”

Brienne chuckled. “I’d gladly do an exchange with her for Podrick and some peace and quiet.”

Bran made a vague humming noise and waited for her to go on. Brienne felt a twinge of concern for him. She would never call Bran strange, but he didn’t behave like everyone else. He hadn’t as long as she had known him, though Arya and Sansa always referred to Bran with a sense of ‘before’ and ‘after’ the accident.

“Is something wrong?” She prodded gently. “Dreams haven’t been too bad lately, right?”

Bran just hummed again. “No, not too bad. I’m just thinking, but there’s nothing the matter yet.”

Brienne wracked her brain for something to say to that. But, she refused to treat it as an odd thing to say, confusing as it was. He was treated like an entirely different species often enough, he didn’t need it from her. “Have you gotten to see Meera and her brother this summer?”

“Yes, quite a bit, I think it’s starting to get on Mother’s nerves.”

Brienne laughed and started to encourage him to tell Catelyn off a bit but he cut her off.

“Sel’s here, and he looks mad, gotta go.”

Brienne started. “Love you too, call me if you—“

“Brie?”

“Hi, Dad.” Brienne chewed on her lip, waiting for all hell to break loose on her for not calling.

Selwyn just sighed. “I hear you have a new job, are congratulations or condolences in order?”

“Money is money, I have rent and my loans to think of.”

“Brie, Catelyn has said a thousand times, she’s willing to help you out if you need it. You just let us know.”

“Okay.”

“And if this new job continues to keep you from calling, it’s a conversation we will be having. So, tell me about your research.”

Brienne summarily described the progress they had made— which wasn’t much for all of Tyrion’s dawdling. Her father listened intently, asking question after question about the things she told him.

When she had exhausted all of the reading she had done, he chuckled, told her she was going to be a wonderful professor someday, and turned the conversation to the Lannisters. Which, she heavily suspected he had wanted to do from the beginning.

He was painfully curious about it because, the way he told it, the first person to help them when they arrived in Lannisport after fleeing Tarth was some less powerful Lannister family member. Brienne had heard nothing of the person her father had asked about multiple times since the trip was announced and was quite convinced that he’d hallucinated the whole thing.

But, she told him about Tywin and Cersei, and their strange dinner conversation. She told him about Jaime and the staff that she had seen around in the last few weeks.

“What’s wrong with Tywin’s son?” Selwyn asked eventually, clearly wondering if Brienne would scold him for the way he spoke of Jaime’s injury and disability.

To be fair, as far as she could tell, there were many, many things wrong with Jaime. Not a one of them had to do with his lack of a hand, or injured spine.

“A lot of things. But he needs my help because he was recently in a car accident which severely fractured his spine, and crushed one of his hands. He has been doing physical therapy for walking and learning to use his other hand, but it isn’t easy for him to get around right now.”

“That was the weird accident, right? Back in March, derailed the whole conference the Lannisters were supposed to be hosting?”

Brienne honestly wasn’t sure. She barely remembered when it had happened in the middle of the midterms-rush, when Tyrion had run off for a few weeks to be with his brother, saddling her and Sansa with all the work for his students. Not that she could very well complain about it; she enjoyed working with the students as much as she enjoyed her other work. And it was a welcome break from her research. And she would have rushed off in the same way if it were any of her step-siblings.

“I don’t remember.”

“It was their _Origin_ thing, it was all over the news. It was something to do with physics research. But their stock was fluctuating like crazy over it. So everyone says the accident was suspicious.”

“You know I’m not connected to this,” Brienne said, suppressing a yawn. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, let me know if anyone mentions Storm’s End and Stannis, last we talked, he was pretty angry about the Lannisters taking his employees for the project.”

Brienne sighed and rolled her eyes, about to retort with some line about how Stannis Baratheon always was and always had been angry.

But, then she paused. _Storm’s End. Oh, please no._

“Brie? You fall asleep on me again? You know, you can tell me if you want me to stop talking before that happens.”

Selwyn's tone was teasing and comforting because it reminded her of home, and her room in Winterfell, like returning to that familiar place amidst all the strangeness of this new one. In spite of herself, Brienne grinned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, a regular update schedule? Whack. Maybe I will get the hang of this...  
> Thank you for reading!  
> -B


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the past, Jaime and Brienne try to escape Casterly Rock. In the present, they try to agree on a truce.

143 AC - OLD CASTERLY ROCK

Brienne shrieked, well beyond caring that her voice was several octaves above its normal pitch. She shot to her feet, right arm heavy from the sword still in her hand.

“It’s commoners.” One of the soldiers grumbled, turning back towards the door. “Cowering.”

His comrade caught him on the shoulder with one hand, drawing his blade with the other. “They have swords.”

There was a flurry of movement too overwhelming for her to realize what was happening before a loud clang drew her focus outward.

She held the sword over her head, awkwardly and by the feel of it, not with the right grip. It was holding back a sword swung by the first soldier— _at her head._

Brienne had no idea how she’d reacted so quickly when she barely remembered realizing what was happening.

Her expression must have been comically confused or astounded, because it gave the soldier pause. He looked at her with a question in his eyes for a long moment before his blade drew back, and in a flash swung at her legs.

The pain was blinding, she staggered back against the wall, one hand dropping from the hilt of her sword to the slash in her lower thigh. When she drew her hand away, it was completely covered in blood— possibly more blood than she’d seen in her life. She gagged, not so much for the bleeding, but for the sheer volume of it. _That, definitely, is not good._

It was a bizarrely simplistic way of putting it.

The soldier was charging at her again, sword raised over his head, she would be trapped against the wall soon enough, unable to duck out of the reach of his blade, so she lurched forward, hoping to push him back, to get him _away_ from her.

_Why can’t he see I’m not a threat to him? I’ve not even got armor on._

Her sword arm reached out in front of her— the blade slipping through the chink in the side of his armor, and then, through the soft cloth and flesh beneath it. The man slumped to the side, falling off the sword rather than her withdrawing it as he crumpled to the ground.

Brienne’s fingers slackened on the hilt, still unable to think, or process what was happening to her. The only thing that occurred to her was that her leg, still bleeding profusely, she was sure— hurt no longer. She would’ve let the sword fall, or fallen herself, or maybe just cried for the shock of it all but there was more commotion around her.

Across the room, Jaime was cornered by the soldier’s two companions, all three of them momentarily distracted by her.

“ _Seven hells…”_ Jaime muttered, his words drawing the guards attention back to him. Their swords inched closer to his neck.

“Who _are_ you?”

Jaime held up his hand, and his stumped arm in surrender, his own sword clattering against the stone. “I’m Jaime, the lady that killed your friend is Brienne, can you let me go? I’m not _with_ the Lannisters!”

Their swords inched closer to Jaime’s throat.

“You’re taking shelter in their castle, aren’t you? And we’re about to win, so it seems you’re on the wrong side.” One of the soldiers began. “And when people are on the wrong side, no matter who they are—“

Brienne stepped forward, feeling like she was in a trance, and grabbed both of their shoulders, throwing them away from Jaime. They stumbled a few feet, both of them a bit surprised to see her still conscious and standing, perhaps.

“I was getting somewhere!” Jaime cried, his stumped arm smacking her upper arm.

“They were just going to kill you. You _can’t_ die.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” Jaime muttered through grit teeth, watching cautiously as the men regained their footing. “ _But I was working on that part!”_

Brienne wanted to throw up her hands in exasperation, though, doing so would probably take off the head of the man she had just tried to save. “I panicked! Are you getting your sword up or what?”

Jaime hesitated from half a breath then ducked down, holding the weapon unsteadily in one hand in time for the re-organized attack of the two Targaryen soldiers.

She didn’t have time to see what he did, preoccupied with the one attacking her. She wasn’t nearly fast enough, scrambling and jumping out of the way of his blade where she was unable to draw hers in time. His blows knocked her easily off balance— she knew a good enough fighting stance as an athlete and from martial arts and the like, but any knowledge she had faded into the background of just trying to survive the fight.

It was so dark outside of the beam of light coming through the windows, and the circular room was much smaller than she had thought upon entering. She quickly discovered both of these things being thrown into the rough stone walls.

Twice she was able to throw her opponent against the walls instead, by grabbing him and shoving him rather than with sword work. The first time knocked off his helmet, the second time knocked him to the floor, allowing her to step on his chestplate.

The armor caved in more easily than she expected it to, and the man wheezed at the increased pressure on his chest as he struggled to stand. And then he was standing again, swinging his sword again and she was fleeing.

 _I don’t want him to die. I don’t want him to. I don’t want to die, either!_ She swung her sword blindly, hoping for some blow that wasn’t lethal but could stop him from following her. As she did, he landed three more on her; shoulder, cheek, and leg again though she barely noticed.

Then her blade found a space in his armor, near his shoulder and she _pushed_ , both hands braced on the hilt of the sword to force it through the leather and mail below. Without the weight of her full body behind it, such a blow was harder to land, but it worked. The cut was clumsy and deep, sliced out of his shoulder and the upper part of his sword arm.

The soldier went down, not dead, but injured, his sword fell on her foot and she winced. When he began to reach for it, she winced and then kicked him in the side of the head; knocking him unconscious.

Jaime still struggled on with his opponent, surprisingly skilled with a sword. He moved fast, though not far or gracefully. His back made him walk awkwardly at the best of times, and he was leaning too far to the right to overcompensate for the weight in his left hand.

But, for someone who complained about being formerly right-handed, he looked to have a better understanding, at least, of what was happening than she had. Of course, it wasn’t enough to gain the upper hand and he was tiring.

Brienne dashed across the room and threw the soldier into the wall as hard as she could muster on her shaking, injured limbs. He crumpled as his partner had.

Brienne crumpled too, her face falling into her hands. Her hair was blood-soaked, she noticed— she had cuts and scrapes everywhere. Four places on her face were burning as tears she didn’t realize she was crying tracked over them.

Jaime was kneeling in front of her, yanking her shoulder to pull her upwards. His stump braced against her shoulder holding her up, and his left hand clamped over her mouth. She was so surprised by the firm gesture that with the sharp breath she drew in, she stopped crying.

“ _Quiet.”_ His voice was firm but not entirely devoid of sympathy. “I really don’t want to do that again.”

“I killed them!” Her words were muffled against Jaime’s palm and she had to repeat them after he drew back.

“Just one of them,” Jaime shrugged, alarmingly unbothered by it.

“We’re not supposed to be here, they would still be alive if I wasn’t here. Gods, his family, what if he had children?”

Jaime frowned at her like the concerns were something entirely foreign to him. “He would have killed you, he knew the risks going into battle.”

Brienne shook her head, tears welling hot beneath her eyelids.

“Oh, calm down!” Jaime snapped.

Brienne’s eyes opened in a flash of irritation. “Not all of us having killed someone before, can you just—“

Jaime’s eyes widened and he drew back, forcing Brienne to realize what she had implied. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t meant it, she didn’t have to be nearly as smart as she was to know that Jaime had killed someone before, Minister Aerys. It didn’t really matter what the court had said, they might’ve said anything promised the kind of money that could build new Casterly Rock, and everything else that came with it.

“That’s unfair,” Jaime said, his voice carrying no real tone or passion behind the protest.

“Is it? I won’t apologize, I’m not an idiot.”

The guard beside them stirred, the one across the room was still out cold, but they both cast nervous glances in his direction.

Somewhere outside a bell was tolling, irregular as though someone pulled its string with frantic urgency. There was an uproar of shouting, the victorious cries of the Targaryen forces, and the clanging of Lannister weapons hitting the courtyard beyond them.

Brienne shivered and wished the bells would stop ringing such a foreboding melody over all of it.

“We should go.” Jaime murmured, his hand tugging on her arm.

Somewhere beyond the tower, a woman screamed, and men jeered. Brienne squeezed her eyes shut, her shoulders drawing nearly to her ears.

“Can’t we—“

Jaime shook his head. “Let’s not trap ourselves in here, gods, nothing’s going to happen, everyone’s too distracted with—“ He paused and reconsidered. “I’ll not leave you, okay? They won’t bother the two of us— leave the sword here.”

Brienne didn’t retrieve hers from where it had fallen. Instead, she rose and dragged Jaime with her, one arm wrapped around his waist to support him. He stumbled every few steps and was already breathing heavily after only a few steps towards the door.

“Look, Lannister—“

“ _Quiet!”_

Brienne pulled open the door and stepped through it. The courtyard was in total chaos, bodies swarming over each other, people crying out, Brienne tried not to imagine what they were all doing— slaughtering the surrendered, taking their families, the women…

She stayed close to the wall, Jaime close at her side, his fingers digging into her already battered shoulder to hold himself upright. Occasionally, he would groan, or swear under his breath in pain. Still, she pressed forward until they reached an archway that led to an exterior staircase, a path out of the keep.

They had passed largely unnoticed in the chaos of the courtyard and under the cover of darkness, but now they stood, a long staircase descending only the castle ramparts, winding its way down to the stables and the path that led into town. The staircase was well lit, and littered with more than a few bodies from the battle. The pair of them would be horribly conspicuous here, but short of wandering the keep in search of alternate paths, they had no choice.

Brienne started down the stairs, pushing an errant thought about what they would do outside of the keep to the back of her mind. Never mind her bleeding legs and arms and face, if she’d made it this far, it was possible to keep going, she supposed. And tried hard not think of when the limits of that statement would begin to set in.

Jaime fell down the first set of stairs and catching him before his torso could follow his legs set her various wounds ablaze. She propped Jaime upright against the bottom stairs and crouched in front of him, her breath pained and uneven.

“Gods, you’re —“ Jaime cut off, his hand shooting out to push her shoulder down just in time for an arrow, sailing through the air to miss her, and clatter down the stairs beside them.

Brienne turned, moving between where the arrow had come from and Jaime.

“Hey, idiot, move me, don’t act like a human shield.”

“I’m thinking!”

“Help me up,”

Brienne did and promptly tossed him against the wall when his cry warned her of another incoming arrow.

She tried to pivot to press herself against the wall and pain exploded through the back of her skull.

Black clouds closed over her vision, the last thing she was aware of was her shoulder and jaw slamming into the dulled, uneven edge of a stair.

PRESENT - OLD CASTERLY ROCK

The _first_ thing she became aware of was bickering voiced somewhere near her. Her mind was too foggy and panicked to understand what they were arguing about, or who it was.

The next thing she became away of was that she was lying on stone, freezing stone that stung against the cheek she had pressed against it. She turned away to it, pushing herself half off the floor and the bickering stopped abruptly.

She opened her eyes to find Arya, Sansa, and Podrick crouched in front of her, identical faces of curious fear painted over their faces.

“Are you okay?” Arya demanded, dropping to her knees at Brienne’s side.

Brienne opened her mouth to respond, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, painfully dry.

“BRIENNE!”

She looked around, the shout not having come from Podrick nor either of her sisters; Jaime was sat upright off to her right, Tyrion was with him; hands on his shoulders and a baffled look on his face.

It would be far too complicated to explain why Jaime had done that. Something she made a mental note to shout at him for later. Instead, she watched as his eyes found hers and he slumped forward against Tyrion’s shoulder in exhaustion. It was rather sweet of him to make sure she was up to before doing so, but given that she had been... killed? Injured? Wherever they were before, she supposed it must have been hard to watch.

She reached out, unsure, and placed her hand on his shoulder for a moment. If he noticed, he didn’t react, but Tyrion frowned at her and she snapped her hand back to her side.

Sansa huffed. “All right, I’ll bite, what the hell?”

“How long were we out for?” Jaime muttered, his voice slurred and mostly incomprehensible, then repeated himself at their confused looks.

Tyrion shrugged. “Two, maybe three minutes.”

Podrick was helping her the rest of the way to a sitting position, his arm looped around her back. “Do you feel sick?”

Brienne shook her head, truly, she didn’t. Nothing even felt wrong, but for the extreme psychological confusion.

“Why the panic, Lannister?” Arya asked, her voice crackling with suspicion, her eyes narrowed in Jaime’s general direction.

Jaime lifted his head and cast Brienne a questioning look. He was thinking the same thing, at least, they couldn’t tell them until they figured something out for themselves.

Then, it occurred to her to be relieved that Jaime was confirming, with his look, that he remembered what she did.

Jaime looked back at Arya and shrugged. “She fell.”

Everyone looked baffled, but none of them mentioned the various oddities with the explanation. Sansa moved to sit between her and Jaime, wedging herself in the nearly too narrow space, her arm going around Brienne’s shoulder.

“We should go to the hospital,” she began softly, glancing significantly at Tyrion. “Perhaps they were exposed to something...”

Tyrion had moved away from Jaime, apparently satisfied with his brother’s wellbeing. He was studying the same spot of the wall that he had been before Brienne fainted.

“Gods, would you stop that? We have a serious situation on hand!” Podrick hissed, his voice quivering and timid at having to confront him.

“Yes, Yes, I’m sure. Would you pass me the camera, please? I only have one more thing to take care of.”

Arya tossed him the camera. Tyrion cursed her carelessness with such an expensive device, Arya retorted with the fact that he was being careless with his own brother’s health, not to mention Brienne’s.

For the first time in her life, Brienne was longing for them to just leave her alone with Jaime.

Ugh, she shook her head as though to shake off the thought. I must be truly shaken.

Which she imagined was the truth because she was quite incapable of thinking about it, or understanding what had transpired, or how. Gods, it had to be that they were exposed to something. It just had to be.

They hadn’t... disappeared from the throne room physically, surely they would have said something about it. So, it must have been a hallucination, from the battle to the dragon, to the strange mist that had rushed in through the broken window above her head.

“Brienne, Brienne! Can you hear—“

She jerked, realizing someone had been calling her name for a while. “Yes?”

Sansa’s expression softened. “Can you walk back down the hill to the car? I promise it’s not very far.”

Brienne nodded, wondering why Sansa was speaking to her as though Brienne didn’t know where they had left Jaime’s car.

“You’re not going to throw up in the car, are you wench? I wouldn’t have lent it to Tyrion if—“

“You didn’t lend it to me anyway, you said I could only have it if you could come along.” Tyrion snapped. “That’s just hiring a chauffeur service.”

“She looks pale.” Jaime snapped. “So, if she is going to throw up—“

“Shut up.” Arya snapped. “Podrick, can you carry Jaime, or are you too tempted to throw him in the ocean?”

Podrick shrugged. “We shouldn’t stay here longer.”

Everyone nodded, Brienne included, though the movement made her head hurt vaguely.

Tyrion collapsed his squared shoulders in relief. “Finally, something we can all agree on,”

*

The sun had already set by the time the doctors had finished running their tests. Though, much of that time had been spent trying to leave the ruins, and drive down into Lannisport on winding and narrow dirt roads. With Sansa driving instead of Brienne, it was all the more nerve-racking.

At the clinic, Brienne had been separated from the others and made to take blood tests, be strapped to a heart monitor and answer what must have been nearly a hundred questions from three different doctors.

She wondered what Tyrion had said to the doctors to get them so concerned about the incident. Such attention was rarely paid to such a minor-seeming problem. And yet, they had found nothing at all the matter with her.

Brienne was still wishing they would at the least, allow her and Jaime to sit together during the whole process. She was itching to ask him what he remembered almost as much as she was itching to write it down so as not to forget a minute of all the strangeness.

 _Besides,_ she thought, the absurdity of it occurring to her even as she did, _it could be useful information. A brand new eye-witness account._

Not, that she had witnessed much until the end.

Sansa and Arya had come in and brought her food after she had her last blood test; she hadn’t told them any more details. She didn’t want to scare Sansa or listen to Arya’s giggling if she didn’t believe her. They were never very good when she was scared, or alarmed. No one ever had been— and she’d learned quickly enough that people preferred her to be pleasant over being broken. No one was good at handling the latter and blamed her when their efforts to do as much failed.

Smiling, and brushing it all aside as some silly, mundane thing that they were too worried about comforted them, especially Sansa who wore her anxiety about it all as plainly as she wore a grey blouse.

It was almost a relief when they were shooed out of the room by another doctor with another set of questions. Though, moments after, she found herself in knots over how ridiculous it was for her to wish her sisters away in favor of someone she could only half stand to talk to.

She sat on the uncomfortable hospital bed in waiting, a scratchy blanket thrown over her bare legs and stared at the ceiling, her head tilted back against the bed’s metal frame. Her shoulders ached with tension that no amount of forceful relaxing could cure, her eyes were drooping with exhaustion brought on by emotional stress.

She waited so long she began to question if she was really sane at all if Jaime’s look had meant something else. Maybe he saw something else that involved her in the same way that her vision had involved him? Maybe they were keeping her here because they discovered that she was truly crazy.

Then, there was a knock on the door.

Brienne straightened and pulled her hospital gown on a little straighter, bracing herself for another line of questioning from a doctor who didn’t explain what any of it meant to her.

“Come in,”

The door creaked open, and the curtain in front of it was pushed aside.

“I hope you’re decent—“ Jaime appeared from behind the curtain and hesitated. “Clearly ‘decent’ was too much to hope for, at least you’re clothed.”

Brienne was about to retort that he was wearing an identical medical gown underneath the robe he had on, cinched at the waist. Another jab at her appearance, she quickly realized, and returned simply with a glower.

“I’ve been trying to see you all afternoon, they wouldn’t let me away. I’m hurt you didn’t come looking for me.”

Brienne narrowed her eyes at him further. “I had as many things tested as you did, I’ve not had the time.”

Jaime shook his head. “And yet, you’re here tucked up in bed, and not wandering the halls, knocking on doors.”

“You might’ve asked my sisters or Podrick. They’ve been in.”

“They hate me,” Jaime sighed, collapsing into the chair against the opposite wall and looking at her pleadingly, as though she were supposed to say something to remedy that.

“I won’t tell them not to.”

“Not after I saved your life?”

Brienne nodded, about to retort that no, she had saved his life _more_ than he had hers. But, his words, incorrect as they were, were an acknowledgement of the thing she was beginning to doubt even happened. Warm relief flowed through her, and tension seeped out of her shoulders, lessening the pounding in her head.

“So, you remember the same thing I do,” Brienne asked. “The battle.”

Jaime looked amused. “What? Were you thinking you had a very detailed dream about all that? Should I be alarmed or flattered that you accepted me as a normal part of that?”

Brienne gave him a long look. “I’ve been having nightmares starring you for weeks.”

It wasn’t true, not even for one night of all the nights she had known him, but it was enough to shut him up, surprised at her returning his insults.

“Why, wench…”

“Can we just—“ Brienne cut off, not wanting to suggest anything too drastic. “What the hell was that?”

Jaime bit his lip and gave her a long look. She ran through all the strange things she’d seen him do in since she’d known him; the conversations she caught between him and Cersei, his complete calm at the men she had killed, and the crisis situation posed by battle. He looked similarly uncomfortable now as when she’d asked him about any of those things.

So, she knew he was lying to her when he shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I think I should tell Tyrion.”

“Tyrion?” Brienne was floored by the suggestion when the urgent pleading in his eyes back in the throne room told her that something about this was very, very, secret.

For a moment she entertained the idea that it had something to do with the politician he had killed— or rather, been on trial for and been absolved of thanks to Tywin’s money. Perhaps it was some terrible Lannister plot like everyone talks about when the name comes up. Or, perhaps she just read too many books, and Jaime was as shaken as she was.

“Yes, Tyrion. He’s the smartest of us, though my father would rather cut out his own tongue than say so. If it’s… anything like we think, he’ll know what we should do.”

Brienne’s brows furrowed. “And what do _we_ think it is, again?”

“Time travel, don’t you remember.”

Brienne nodded, still not understanding. “Do I even want to—“

Jaime shook his head. “Not tonight, I could, maybe, no— definitely not, just,”

She had never seen him so hesitant; his hand clutching at his forehead, drawing it back through his hair.

“Let me talk to Tyrion first, undoubtedly he won’t keep whatever we talk about secret from your little… study group—“

“—Research team,” Brienne corrected, trying to sound bored rather than irritated, and failing miserably.

“Sure, anyways, he’ll tell you all because it happened to you too and he’ll want to use it. Trust me, I know my brother. If it hurts you, I’m sure it’s not entirely on purpose.”

“It’s fine. I don’t like having to keep it secret from my sisters, either. They’re suspicious enough of you waking up, screaming my name.”

Jaime raised his eyebrows. “You’d like that wouldn’t you, Brienne?”

Brienne had realized her mistake too late, surely she was blushing furiously at her wording and his prodding. “I would like for you to have died when that soldier struck you down.”

Jaime opened his mouth, preparing a secondary strike and taking too much pleasure in how embarrassed she was by his first. “Oh, but then—“

There was another knock on the door and Brienne immediately cut Jaime off to admit them.

A doctor entered, followed by Tyrion and Sansa who were looking immensely relieved. Both of their expressions twisting to ones of bewilderment at the sight of Jaime.

“You’re…” the doctor trailed off as well when she saw Jaime sitting in the chair across from Brienne. “Well, I suppose you’re both cleared to go. Everything looked completely normal, I don’t see any trades of anything that meant of caused an incident in the blood tests, or anything. But, as I said, we’ll send them out for further testing. But, for now, go home and get some rest, stay hydrated, and come back in if anything changes.”

Tyrion and Sansa were nodding rapidly and thanking the doctor as though they were the patients receiving instructions. Brienne was still too confused to react to anything that was being said.

She was handed spare clothes— not her own, to travel home in and everyone left the room so that she could change. Even Jaime, under duress by Tyrion— biting back a retort that she was _certain_ was about the moment in the bedroom before the battle before realizing that he shouldn’t speak of it.

Sansa lingered in the doorway, a questioning look at her face. Brienne shot her a smile, completely at a loss for how to begin explaining it to her, adrift from any common sense that might help her develop a lie.

*

Their return to Casterly Rock went nearly unnoticed but for the security guard that let them in. No one raised an eyebrow at the late hour. Predictably, Tywin and Cersei were nowhere to be found and seemed not to have noticed their absence.

Tyrion left after Jaime extracted a promise to meet in the morning for breakfast. Brienne tried not to look at either Lannister with anything but indifference as Jaime spoke. She wasn’t asked to join them at breakfast.

In fact, as Tyrion retreated, Jaime turned to her. “You don’t need to help me tomorrow morning. Just, help me upstairs now and I’ll see you... at some point I’m sure.”

Brienne rolled her eyes, stepping behind his chair and pushing it away from

their silent audience of the Starks and Podrick. “Fine. I’ll be up in a moment, Sansa.”

When they were alone in a side hallway, Brienne spoke up. “You have to tell me what Tyrion says.”

Jaime twisted to look back at her. “Of course. I’m sure you’ll know when he bursts in on your day off for a three-hour interview. I would expect him around ten in the morning tomorrow if I were you.”

Brienne shook her head. “I want you to tell me, Lannister. Your brother isn’t going to explain anything.”

Jaime sighed. “Can we do it over the phone?”

“We live in the—“ Brienne paused, then fell silent, her fingers curling more tightly around the handles of the wheelchair. The urge to strike him over the back of the head was nearly overwhelming.

They didn’t speak again beyond the necessary coordinating of walking up the stairs until he was settled in his bedroom. He readied himself for bed with the clothes mysteriously

laid out for him while she retrieved his chair.

When she returned with it, he was attempting— pathetically, to tuck himself under the blankets. When she entered, he looked at her pleading, his right arm raised in explanation.

“You should have used your hand while you were still standing.” She said flatly, turning to leave.

“Brienne— wait!”

She turned, sure the slump forward in her shoulders was noticeable. “Oh, what now, Lannister? I’m not tucking you in if that’s what you want.”

“No, it’s just, do you think we changed anything?”

Brienne’s brows furrowed. “Changed?”

“If what we did... changed the past at all, would we even know it, because here, we’ve lived our whole lives with this.”

Brienne shook her head. “We would know from before we, we— no,”

It took her an embarrassingly long moment to piece together the timeline. It wasn’t like there were two times; one before and one after they had... “time-traveled”. So, there was no way of knowing if her actions today... or then, rather, might have changed what she knew to be true now.

“Gods, you’re hurting my brain.” She shook her head, hands floating up to awkward hold the door frame, leaning on her hands to support herself.

Jaime shook his head. “You’re not even good at being a bookworm, honestly, wench.”

“Why don’t you call me my name, I know you can do it, you just did it.”

“It’s more fun to tease you.”

Brienne turned to leave again and Jaime made a noise of protest.

“Wait, wait, seriously—“

“Jaime, I want to go to bed, not stand here and be insulted all night.”

Jaime nodded. “We should have a truce.”

Brienne scoffed. “A truce? What for?”

“Well, we need each other, right? Because of what happened? So we shouldn’t fight, we should work together.”

“You need trust to have a truce. And besides, the fight seems a little one sided for a truce! You’re the only one who insults me.”

Jaime shrugged. “But you hate me.”

“Yes, because you’re an asshole to me, constantly.”

“I just said I’m going to stop!”

Brienne counted quickly in her head. “You’ve said at minimum six things to me this evening not in the nature of a truce so I don’t believe you, and I don’t trust you.”

“Well, I just decided on it and I will quickly earn your trust.” Jaime said confidently, as though the words solved all her problems with him. When she was unmoved— though he only waited moments to do so, he turned to wheedling. “Please, Brienne, I don’t actually hate you back, you’re pretty helpful. And you kind of saved my life today, I haven’t forgotten that part.”

Brienne shook her head. “I haven’t forgotten any of it.”

“Truce,” Jaime said again, ignoring her. “You can trust me, I promise.”

Brienne wanted to tell him that such a thing was too much to ask. She wasn’t going to trust a murderer. And she didn’t want a truce with such a person either. She wanted to snap at him that she just wanted to forget it ever happened.

But Jaime was giving her a pleading look that was so alarmingly vulnerable that she could almost see that he was scared. And she was scared too.

And for the foreseeable future, she didn’t have any better options.

“Fine, truce.” She muttered, instantly wondering what kind of idiot she was for agreeing to it.

Jaime grinned broadly, radiantly, to choose a word more apt to describe the joy lighting up his handsome features.

Brienne stared at the floor. “Lannister, you better—“

“I know, I will be so nice you won’t even recognize me,” Jaime said, words slurring together with effort as he finally reclined himself against his pillows and situated himself underneath his blankets. “I bet I can be your best friend by the end of the week.”

Brienne shook her head. “Then you’ll have made a new enemy of Podrick, I’m sure I’m not worth it.”

Jaime grinned. “You do know what banter is, I’m so proud of you.”

“We’re not there yet.” And we’re never going to be there. She thought privately, hesitant at how easily he had turned on niceties. Either he was waiting for an excuse to do so, or he was going to do something terrible. And she had twenty-four years of experience teaching her that it was the latter.

“But we will be!” Jaime called. “Goodnight w— Brienne, turn out the light!”

She hit the switch beside the door and spun on her heel, pulling the door mostly closed behind her. She barely made it three steps into the darkened room behind, shaking her head at the floor in amusement before she walked into Jaime’s sister.

Cersei Lannister made an offended-sounding noise and drew back in alarm. “Watch where you’re going!”

Brienne nodded and made to slip around her, only to be blocked from doing so by Cersei holding out her arm, in a sharp and graceful movement.

“I’m just dying to know what you’re doing here so late.”

“Helping Jaime to bed. We got back late from our trip.”

Cersei checked the delicate watch on her equally delicate wrist. “Hmmm, trip to the hospital, I heard? I can only imagine it had to do with my useless brother, perhaps I should check on him?”

“I can’t imagine why you think I would have a problem with that,” Brienne said tiredly.

“Well, I know he likes you, I suppose I figured the feeling was mutual— I doubt a chance like this will come around for someone like you twice.”

“Leave me out of this, Miss Lannister. I don’t want anything from you or your brother.”

Cersei caught her arm, something foreboding in her eyes. “This is a warning, Miss Tarth, you don’t want to get close to Jaime, you don’t know what he’s done, but I assure you, they were terrible things and there is a long, long list.”

Brienne stared back at her, aware and unembarrassed that her mouth was hanging open. She had one conversation with Jaime bordering on civility and the Lannisters came creeping out of the _literally_ dark corridors to threaten her.

It was beyond insulting that this woman thought she could say a few words and have Brienne pinned under her control.

So, she squared her shoulders. “Respectfully, I don’t have any reason to listen to you, and I’ll see your brother whenever the hells I wish to.” _And, usually, when I don’t wish to, it's my job._

Saying the part from her thoughts would probably lessen the impact of what she was saying, so she held her tongue.

Cersei’s face twisted into a mockery of confusion, though her eyes looked disturbingly gleeful. “Miss Tarth—“

“Goodnight, Cersei.” Brienne ducked around her other side and made for the door.

As she slipped through it, she could see Jaime, half in shadow in his doorway— staring at her with eyes blown wide, something she couldn’t pin down sparking in them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> ~B


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion has a lot of questions. Jaime and Brienne take a break.

“And you woke up in the bedchamber, but Jaime wasn’t there?” Tyrion was perched in Sansa’s armchair, a notebook propped against his crossed legs. His brow was furrowed with the same fascinated concentration as it had been twenty questions ago and showed no signs of disappearing soon.

Brienne shook her head. “He came in after, told me he had been in the hallway.”

Tyrion nodded sternly, writing it down in his notebook with careful strokes. He didn’t have the story in order in the slightest, though she supposed Jaime must have given him a good enough sense of the chronology.

Brienne was opposite him on the sofa, alongside Podrick and Arya, the latter of whom was resting on her shoulder, her right hand laced in Brienne’s left. Sansa was pacing somewhere behind them in a way that was rather difficult to ignore.

“And all of the symptoms you experienced right beforehand, were gone and didn’t ever come back?”

Brienne shrugged. “Not necessarily. I was scared, it feels similar to passing out.”

Tyrion nodded again, a gesture that made it seemed as though everything she said was to be expected. As though he had had experience with things like this in the past. “So everything that Jaime said about the dragon and the battle was true? Do you have something to add?”

The first thing he had done was read off the key parts of what Jaime had told him, after striding into their room and rousing them all. A decision Brienne hadn’t appreciated for how it shocked Sansa, and scared Podrick, and angered Arya and herself. Her companions’ distress was apparent by their current refusal to give her space, and stop pacing.

However, they had accepted it more easily than she thought they would.

“Not really.”

Tyrion nodded, as though he was expecting this too. He did, however, make it abundantly clear that he was disappointed in her for it through how his lips turned down and pressed together.

“Jaime said you were hurt, quite a bit, after,” Tyrion glanced significantly down at his notes, the pause before his next words dripping with doubt. “You sword-fought three Targaryen soldiers?”

Brienne winced— her only consolation had been that he hadn’t brought up that major detail when reading out his notes from Jaime.

“You _what?”_ Sansa snapped, her hands slamming on the couch behind Brienne’s shoulders.

“ _Awesome_ ,” Arya chimed in, readjusting herself to look at Brienne. “I didn’t even know you could do that.”

Tyrion snorted. “She can’t. Jaime said she was struggling quite a bit with it.”

Brienne scoffed, throwing up her free hand. “I killed one of them! Jaime didn’t, so he should hold his tongue.”

Sansa made a scandalized noise at the first part of the sentence, and it wasn’t that Brienne didn’t regret doing it, but if Tyrion was writing this down for his research— she wasn’t keen on going in it as a damsel in distress.

“He said it was a very heroic struggle if that helps.”

It didn’t really, so she said as much. “Do you have more questions? Or would you care to explain all this now?”

Tyrion laughed aloud. “You think I have an explanation for all this? I came up here half-convinced my brother had finally gone mad. This is unheard of!”

Brienne’s stomach clenched, she had spent the night tossing and turning and clinging to the fact that Jaime could force Tyrion to figure it all out. If anyone was to know about some strange myth about the ruins of Casterly Rock, Tyrion could be counted upon to know it.

Podrick and her siblings had peppered him with all the questions she couldn’t think of but Tyrion had refused to answer any of them until he had answers from her. At least now, she knew why. He hadn’t wanted to admit that he had no idea.

_Men,_ she thought in exasperation, catching Sansa’s eye and rolling hers.

“I can believe him now that you’ve corroborated it. Of the pair of you, you’re considerably more level-headed.” Tyrion continued, seeming not to catch their irritation.

“So, so,” Sansa repeated herself a few more times slowly. “Is it dangerous? Is it going to happen again? Why did it only happen to the two of them?”

Tyrion opened his notebook and glanced at a page with only three lines of notes written on it. “I have, they were both standing, or they were holding hands and it only happened to one of them somehow, and the symbols for explanations.”

“The symbols?” Brienne asked, pulling her hand from Arya’s so as to cross her arms.

Tyrion nodded. “The symbol that I pointed out in the book, say, a bit over a week ago, matched a carving on the wall.”

He leaned forward, passing her two photos from within his file. One was of the page in the book, one was of a rocky wall. It was possible they were the same pattern, though weather and time had obscured the carving on the rock so much that she wasn’t certain they were the same at all.

“All of those are pretty stupid.” Arya pointed out. “It’s not like it’s magic. And besides, the patterns don’t match that well.”

Tyrion gave her a long look that heavily suggested he was considering it actually being magic. But, then again, he was certainly the _least_ level-headed of them over things like this. Or— it wasn’t that he was reckless, but Brienne knew he believed all sorts of strange things.

“If you would just let me have a little more time.” Tyrion sounded a tad apologetic, as though realizing that he had scared all of them.

“Where’s Jaime?” Podrick asked. “Why does he think he can get out of this?”

Tyrion snorted and snapped the notebook shut again. “No one goes against my sister, really. It would’ve been suspicious of me to insist he come.”

“So, we can’t tell anyone about this?” Sansa said, picking up that they shouldn’t tell anyone. Brienne gathered that Tyrion not wanting to tell Cersei, specifically, was closer to the truth.

When Tyrion said as much, she nodded— and vaguely wondered what the hell was wrong with the Lannister sister.In the confusion, she had nearly forgotten about her threats the previous evening. Now that she remembered the event, she was even more unsettled.

She wasn’t allowed to entertain the thought for long before Tyrion returned to his interrogation.

“So, you said you changed clothes—“

Brienne held up a hand. “I wrote everything down when I got back. Can’t you just read that?”

Tyrion looked surprised. “Why didn’t you mention that twenty questions ago?”

“I’m less interested in talking now that I know you haven’t got an explanation.” Brienne snapped. “I left it on the table, in my notebook.”

Tyrion continued to look surprised.

So, she went on. “What? I’m not blind to what it could possibly mean for us, Lannister. I know how to conduct research.”

Tyrion nodded. “All right.”

Brienne sighed in relief, her head was pounding and every minute of conversation with confused siblings and aruthlessly curious Tyrion was only making it worse.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to lie down.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Podrick and Arya said, nearly in unison, Podrick speaking half a word behind Arya.

“Headache.” Brienne replied dismissively, hoping yet doubting it would be left at that.

“Is that time-travel related?” Sansa asked, her voice soft and scared.

Tyrion looked at her incredulously. “What an interesting question, Stark, _how would anyone know that?”_

Sansa returned the glare. “Obvious. Does Jaime have a headache?”

Tyrion grabbed the notebook and promptly nearly through it as he shrugged violently at Sansa. “I didn’t ask.”

Sansa sighed, wrapping her arms tightly around chest, she was several shades paler than usual. “Please leave.”

“I can’t answer one question and—“

“Brienne isn’t well, and probably traumatized because, in case you forgot, she just told us that she _killed_ someone. So if you could hold off for a bit, it would be appreciated.” Sansa snapped at him, her hand settling on his shoulder and steering him towards the door as she spoke. When the door was opened and Tyrion was standing beyond the threshold, she continued. “And keep your brother away from us today!”

The door was slammed in Tyrion’s face and Sansa spun around.

“How could you not tell us?!” Sansa snapped, not allowing her to slip out of the room.

“I promised Jaime I would wait.”

“A promise you made to Jaime Lannister,” Sansa began in disbelief, her hands gesturing in agitation at her. “Was more important than telling us all of that? Brienne, we’re your family!”

Brienne did feel badly about that, she hadn’t meant for Tyrion to speak of it as though he were interrogating her. But, she had understood what Jaime’s wanting to keep it between them for a little while. It was nothing short of a miracle that Sansa didn’t round on her immediately and accuse her of being completely insane.

“I don’t want to argue about this. A promise is a promise, and regardless of everything else, Jaime knows what it was like. It wouldn’t be right to—never mind, all that, I wanted to be sure I wasn’t crazy before we had to talk about it!“

Sansa looked at her with a pitying expression. “I’m sorry, I just— I hope you know what you’re doing, Brienne.”

She didn’t. Of course, she didn’t, she barely even knew what was happening to begin with.

Sansa was looking at her like she thought Brienne was being naive. Very privately, Brienne worried Sansa was right, though that was a train of thought she wouldn’t let herself follow too far. More so, she was irritated that Sansa was still focused on Jaime’s involvement in it all, it wasn’t as though she had asked for his company over Sansa’s.

And it was rather astounding that she managed to stay focused on the least important detail when the revelation was that they may have gone back in time and lived to tell the tale.

“I’m going to sleep,” she muttered, half rising from the couch. Podrick rose with her, his hand catching her under the forearm and pushing her the rest of the way to her feet.

“Do you need help with—“

Brienne waved him off trying for a reassuring smile to him and Sansa.

Arya just looked thoughtful, but completely unconcerned, she waved at Brienne and congratulated her on the sword-fight.

As Brienne stepped into her room and shut the door behind her she heard a flurry of footsteps, undoubtedly her friends scurrying away from her door to whisper about what had transpired. The awful part of her kept her rooted to the spot, dying to know what they were going to say, though she was sure she didn’t want to hear all of it.

“She’s not crazy, so neither of you say it.” Podrick’s voice came, immediately forestalling the worst thing her sisters could have said. A small relief, she thought.

“We know.” Arya hissed. “I’d put my money on Lannister, well, either of his siblings doing something strange.”

Sansa hummed her agreement with what Arya said. “Brienne said she thought they were up to something awful. Though I can’t imagine why they would need to drag her into it.”

Everyone was silent for a long moment. Brienne pressed closer to the door, her hand flattening against one of the lion-faces carved into the door, her fingers curling slightly over its edges to hold herself upright. She couldn’t tell if they had begun whispering in earnest or if they were truly not speaking.

It seemed to be a long moment of consideration though because Sansa spoke again in a tremulous voice.

“Maybe because she knows that they’re plotting, and they were trying to take her out. We didn’t hear a thing about Jaime helping her… wherever they were.”

“Well, Sansa, he can’t really walk, apparently that didn’t change.” Podrick pointed out, diplomatic as always. “Maybe we can’t really blame him for that.”

“I’ll blame him for whatever I wish to,” Sansa replied stiffly. “Our mother is wary of the lot of them, and I’ve seen no reason to reconsider that impression. Brienne is too idealistic—”

Brienne had to try hard not to imagine that Sansa’s judgment of her as an idealist, wasn’t a thinly veiled way of calling her desperate. A horribly undignified way of being seen, she thought, so lacking and unworthy of attention that she would want to seek it from the Lannisters. It was one of the things Brienne hoped wasn’t true about herself, but feared that it was often enough— on a subconscious level at least.

Arya stopped Podrick and Sansa. “We’ll need to keep an eye out for her, for both of them, I guess. I can ask Gendry if he’s seen anything strange around here, he practically grew up here.”

Podrick laughed and she heard Arya cry out in annoyance.

“What’s going on with the two of you?” Sansa asked, her words backed by Pod’s oooh’ing and aaaah’ing.

“Shut up!” Arya retorted, and Brienne could almost picture the look of disgruntlement taking over the girl’s face, her lips pressing more together, blood faintly coloring her cheeks.

As the conversation turned to Arya’s new love interest, or such, the previous crisis seems forgotten. That was a small mercy at least, in a morning that had only continued to find new and creative ways of being frustrating.

Brienne collapsed on her bed, barely bothering to position herself so she was propped against the pillows. She gathered the blankets and sheets up to her chin, her face turned into the pillow beside her to block out the morning’s light.

She was asleep in moments, blissfully unable to form another coherent thought.

*

For three days, things largely returned to normalcy. Brienne would rise early; help Jaime, he would go to breakfast and she spent the day in the library, helping Jaime if he rang the library telephone to request her.

For three days, without fail, he requested her help during lunch and followed her to the library in the afternoon and spent it sat beside Tyrion, speaking with inaudible urgency. It was the only thing remotely out of the ordinary for them.

Feeling so different when all else remained unchanged was strange; leaving her feeling constantly ill at ease. But nothing happened, even Pod and Sansa managed not to treat her any different.

She wasn’t particularly keen on talking about what had happened. She was sure it would become a discussion of the killing that soldier, or seeing the castle burn down, or something she was sure to spend the rest of her life trying to forget. But the sheer normalcy made her feel fragile somehow; like no one was talking about it because if they did, disaster would strike.

At least Jaime joked about it with her, seeming to use that as the thing to talk about now that the truce prevented him from filling the silence with insults. She responded in kind, trading observations about what they had seen, and hearing his, even if they were presented as jests, she made several notes about the experience which were not shared with Tyrion.

On the fourth day since their trip to the ruins, she had a day off. Tyrion had designated two days a week off from working on the project.

Brienne was glad for it; after getting Jaime up she was planning to use the time to work on her thesis; synthesizing information from Tyrion’s project that could be used to answer her own questions.

Sansa and Podrick had gone into Lannisport to see some art exhibit they had been talking about seeing for weeks. Arya and Gendry had gone off on another one of their adventures; Brienne deeply suspected that Arya would try to bring him to the ruins again, though she swore up and down that she wouldn’t when Brienne pleaded with her to stay away.

The apartment was blissfully quiet and she sat on the balcony overlooking the castle and sea below. The table in front of her was covered with books and note sheets, organized by topic with binder clips.

Unfortunately, Brienne had scarcely finished setting up the typewriter on the table and rolling the paper into it when the phone rang, shrill and demanding.

She groaned and pushed back her chair, circling the table and moving towards the double doors leading into the sitting room. At best, it was Sansa who would be in need of direction, at worst it was Jaime who wanted her to do something.

She stepped back into the sitting room, pushing aside an errant curtain blowing across the doorway. She bent over the table, and lifted the receiver to her ear, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder so her hand would be free to sift through the papers on the table if need be.

“Brienne Tarth, speaking.”

“Hi, Brienne Tarth, where did you go?”

Brienne sighed deeply. _Worst case scenario._

“Jaime, what do you want?”

“I want you to take me somewhere, I need help.”

“It’s my day off!”

Jaime groaned. “My spine isn’t taking a day off from being broken, and besides, this is a _fun_ activity. A day-off activity if you will,”

“In that case, no, I’m working on my dissertation.”

Jaime gasped, though it was mocking rather than truly shocked. “That’s not a day off, Tarth, please tell me you weren’t about to leave for the library.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Well, you have an entire year to finish writing that thing, Come help me.”

“I don’t actually, I have to submit—“

“And you’re already on what? Draft three?”

“Draft five, actually.” She said stiffly. “I really need to—“

“Take a break because I don’t think you have since you’ve been here? I was going to say the same thing.”

“No, Jaime. Can’t your sister take you?”

Jaime scoffed. “My sister thinks I should be able to drive myself by now.”

“You can’t?” Brienne was puzzled by the revelation, cars were getting easier and easier to drive every year it seemed as the technology was perfected.

“With certain ones. Though I expect you can guess why we don’t have one.”

Brienne nodded, immediately thinking of Tywin Lannister refusing to move Jaime or install some sort of elevator. Jaime must have known how easy it was to manipulate her by bringing the fact up because she considered it only a short moment, pulling gently at her bottom lip with her teeth torn between truly needing to do work and going with him.

“Fine, I’ll do it. But I trust you won’t drag it out, perhaps I can salvage some of the afternoon.”

“Salvage? Gods be good, I’m not trying to torture you.”

“You’re not, I’m just stressed about—“

“Your dissertation?”

“ _Will you stop interrupting me?”_

“It’s not my fault you’re predictable!”

“I am not, you’re just presumptuous. I was going to say I was stressed about your brother’s project before you so rudely interrupted.” Brienne retorted. “I’m getting my things together and I’ll be there shortly so I sincerely hope you’re ready to get this over with.”

Brienne slammed the phone down and set to work, gathering her things; pocketbook, a few pages of notes she wanted to annotate, on the off chance she had a moment to sit around, and sunscreen— on the off chance she would be spending more than ten minutes outdoors. Her clothes were presentable enough— she supposed; loose, linen trousers and a blue shirt that left more of her arms exposed than Brienne was completely comfortable with. Though, she wasn’t about to let herself change clothes for Jaime Lannister.

When she arrived, Tyrion opened the door for her with an amused smile on his face. “I wasn’t sure you’d come after the catfight you had over the phone.”

Brienne’s brow furrowed. “Lannister, tell me you’re not coming too.”

Tyrion grinned at her so gleefully that Brienne couldn’t stop herself from clamping a hand over her mouth as though it could take back what she had said.

“I wouldn’t dream of intruding,” Tyrion said smoothly, turning back into the room, where Jaime was sprawled across his sofa, brow furrowed and his nose in a book. “Stop pretending you’re reading and get up.”

Jaime shut the book and propped himself up on one elbow, his head tilted back slightly in a careless way that was unduly attractive. “I _was_ reading!”

“You’ve been on that page for an hour.”

“It’s a dense book, and you know I’m no good with words.” Jaime tossed the book on the table behind him and heaved himself into a sitting position.

“Brienne is waiting, and she doesn’t seem more patient than she was on the phone.”

“Yes, well, Tarth, come help me up, my back is killing me.”

*

The day hadn’t improved when Brienne discovered what exactly it was that Jaime was planning to do.

He had refused to tell her on the way there, simply giving her directions as she drove his car— one far fancier than anything she had ever been inside or seen in person at all. Jaime played music from the car stereo, bouncing his head and humming along with the melodies. It made her want to smack her head against the steering wheel as a last resort of knocking whatever silly thoughts were taking up residence in her mind.

“Don’t look so angry,” Jaime said, leaning almost entirely into the driver’s seat. “I heard you tell my brother that you were dying to be alone with me.”

Brienne pushed him gently back towards his side of the vehicle. “Personal space, Lannister. And I only meant that I didn’t want to have to deal with the both of you. You’ll understand, it’s been a trying week.”

“Ah, then I will endeavor to be less trying today, my lady. I wouldn’t want to offend your nerves.”

Brienne smiled slightly, glancing at him through the corner of her eye. “You’re not trying hard enough— case in point.”

Under Jaime’s navigation, she drove down the hill and along the bottom of it near the seaside until they reached a small cove carved out of the cliffs where new Casterly Rock was built. The road ended abruptly where it met the craggy wall of cliff bordering the cove.

She stopped the car, not seeing a place to park it, or even enough space to turn it around without hitting something whenever it came time to leave.

“Are you going to murder me?” Brienne asked, fairly confident she could take him if he decided to say yes. “You could have just done that at the house and paid off the judge to let you go free.”

Jaime winced; clearly, the jibe was as step too far. A cringe of embarrassment shot through her. _Gods, I’m the worst at this._

“Sorry, that was inappropriate of me.”

Jaime shrugged and unbuckled his seatbelt, working to lever himself out of the car seat enough to twist and open the door. He was a little slower than usual, she noted with a touch of concern; usually, he could do as much without looking pained.

She jumped out of the car and circled in front of it to the door on the opposite side.

He allowed her to help him out of the car and directed her towards the cove, his voice was clipped and he was careful to use as few words as possible to tell her indirectly that she was not forgiven.

So, Brienne swallowed all of the questions she had for him about what on earth they were doing there.

The only time he spoke again before _the incident_ was to instruct her just to walk him down the short hill to the narrow strip of sand bordering the water.

Once there, she noticed a rowboat, covered with a heavy canvas cloth set back against the cliff. Jaime indicated it with a simple gesture and sat on a nearby rock, content to wait while she dealt with it. Removing the cloth and moving the boat towards the water was easy enough work— the worst of it was having to kill four spiders dwelling within it without shuddering.

She would never be giving Jaime Lannister the satisfaction of knowing she was scared of spiders.

Jaime tripped climbing into the rowboat and threw her a dirty look as though it were all her fault before settling sullenly on the back-most bench in the dingy.

Brienne continued to ignore him, focusing on pushing the boat out into deeper water and jumping aboard herself— the bottom three or so centimeters of her trousers were soaked from the waves gently lapping against the sand and clung to her ankles.

Though she did vaguely wonder if he had called off the truce.

The water was calm, the gentle swell of the tide barely rocked the boat and moved quietly in and away from the shore, not breaking and crashing against it like did everywhere else along this shoreline. The cove was contained, only a hundred yards across at its widest point, and the cliffs curved inwards significantly, obscuring some of the ocean beyond.

It was easy to row the boat, even though they had left Tarth when she was still quite young, her father remained fond of boating and swimming and took her often to a lake nearby Winterfell once they had settled so that she could share in it.

But Brienne felt ill at ease here. Jaime was staring at her as though trying to determine whether or not she was good enough at rowing. More likely, he was judging something else, and he was going to do something terrible— and she had brought this all on herself by listening to him.

“Stop,” He said, after long moments of tense silence, when they had reached near the dead middle of the cove.

Brienne stilled immediately at his tone, watching him warily.

“Put the anchor down,” Jaime instructed, as though it should be obvious and she was painfully stupid not realizing it.

She did, half wanting to snap at him about keeping the truce, though she supposed she had been the first one to break it.

Brienne lifted and tossed the anchor overboard, watching as it plummeted to the seafloor below, sending up a plume of sand as it landed.

Jaime stood.

Brienne’s eyes snapped back to him as he climbed onto his seat with ill grace and seemed to fall out of the boat. A cry escaped her lips before she could stop it.

“Jaime! What the hells?”

But, he was swimming away from the boat, the lack of a second hand and uncoordinated legs making his breaststroke uneven, but he was a surprisingly strong swimmer where he lacked in walking.

“Brienne, come here,” Jaime called. He didn’t sound playful, as perhaps he should. Though he didn’t sound demanding either.

Brienne crossed her arms. “Absolutely not. I’m not dressed.”

Jaime shook his head. “You’re overdressed, you mean.”

Brienne returned his comment with a glare. “I’ll wait here until you decide to get back in.”

Jaime shook his head. “I’m already tired, I need your help.”

“You don’t,”

Jaime’s hand slapped the water, sending a spray of water over him. “My legs hurt too badly, I need you.”

He slipped a little under the water and bobbed back up, his hair wet and plastered to his forehead, and still ridiculously attractive. Her hair would just look sadder if she wet it.

She shook her head again, turning away. She didn’t know what he was trying to do; annoy her, or drown her, or just get under her skin. Though he certainly didn’t want to just go swimming with her, if such a thing were ever the case, he would’ve just asked her to do so.

Not, that she would’ve gone even then. Truce or not, she was never, ever going to be friends with Jaime.

Though, she did turn back eventually, unable to stand keeping her eyes on the horizon for a minute longer.

Jaime was floating on his back, completely still. His shirt was billowing out from the water, shocking white in blue water, but clung to his chest and shoulders were his torso emerged from the water. His eyes were closed, chin tilted back to the sky.

“Lannister!”

Jaime spoke without opening his eyes. “It’s Jaime, Brienne. And, can you come help me, I’m truly tired now and need help back to the boat.”

Brienne glanced at him, noting the stillness which he floated and the movement of his left arm. There _was_ something wrong, it seemed.

She dove off the boat, spraying water everywhere, ignoring the loose clothing billowing in the water and then sticking too closely to her skin when she emerged. Somehow she doubted it looked as elegant on her as it did on Jaime.

And, the water was _so_ much colder than Brienne was anticipating, her nerves woke and seemed to shatter as she slid into the water. It was all she could do to keep her exclamation of surprise a muffled sort-of squeak. And much harder to push off the boat and not immediately pull herself back into the warm air.

Jaime had made it frustratingly far from the boat and was still floating calmly on his back— too calmly than someone who claimed to be unable to swim back had any right to be. He seemed completely undisturbed by her splashing and fretting over the cold water.

She crossed the distance between herself and Jaime quickly enough and closed her hand around his wrist.

“What in seven hells, Jaime? You might have warned me.” She snapped, tugging on his wrist. His body drifted easily towards her and towards the boat, but when he was floating alongside her, he pulled his wrist to his chest, drawing her closer this time, rather than allowing her to continue to move him.

Jaime grinned. “I wasn’t sure that would work. Oh, don’t look so worried, I’m as strong a swimmer as you are.”

“You have a broken spine.” Brienne returned, her legs treading water beneath her to hold her upright. “Just let me help you.”

Jaime shook his head, sending small waves colliding with her chest. “No, we have to talk.”

_Gods, I knew something was wrong about this._ Brienne dropped his wrist and pulled back slightly.

“We can talk on the boat.”

Jaime shook his head again. “We’re alone _here,_ on the boat, someone could be listening.”

Brienne shivered, something in his forbidding tone sent a thrill of horror through her. Her hands pushed at the water, supporting her legs in keeping her afloat. “Is— is it about what happened to us? Did Tyrion tell you something?”

“No.” Jaime hesitated, tilting his head ever so slightly so he could look at her while only submerging half of his cheek in the water. “Oh, don’t look at me like that.”

Brienne pressed her lips more tightly together, hoping it made her look more impassive but fearing it only made her look more apprehensive.

“I know you still hate me, that you don’t trust me.” Jaime began flatly, not accusing her of anything, not betraying a thing about where he could possibly be going with it. “But, you’ll have to, you see, my brother fully intends to use you, to use both of us, for more of whatever happens next.”

Brienne’s stomach clenched, uneasily. “So, he _has_ told you something?”

Jaime shook his head again. “No, but I know him. He will.”

Brienne nodded, knowing it was true but still not able to put the entirety of his meaning together. “So, what? You want no one to hear you ask me to just _trust_ you because you might need me?”

“And you might need me.”

Brienne accepted the addition with a quick nod that quickly turned into a shake of her head, water droplets flying off the ends of her stringy hair.

“All my life I’ve been told not to trust your people, and I’ve seen no reason to not trust that advice. Your sister has threatened me, and you’ve killed a man, a man who trusted you! I won’t be making that mistake when all you’ve done is insult me. And, I don’t need you.”

She expected him to look hurt again, instead, he looked angry, and a bit resigned.

Brienne looked away, eyes fixating on the sunlight dancing on the water, unable to keep looking at his strange expression. When he spoke, the direction he took was so completely unrelated that she did a double-take, her hands stilling in the water.

“Minister Aerys was solely responsible for the Dornish War, solely responsible for the death of Ned Stark, the destruction of Tarth and Sunspear, and it would have gone further. You’ve heard of the madness that possessed all the Targaryens of the Great War? The last of their lineage was no different, just better at hiding it.”

Brienne’s brow furrowed— _is he really about to confess to murder at me? What do I do with that information?_

She knew some of what he was saying, certainly; the Targaryens had been defeated during the Great War, by the Baratheons, and the Starks, eventually even the Lannisters. Nearly all of the family had perished but for two; Aegon and Daenerys, who were children and had been allowed to live on. Back then family lineages had been valued so greatly, a practice that had been falling out of favor for some time, but the Targaryens had been allowed to live on— many of them in service of the crown where they could be kept on a short leash. Within a generation, maybe two, such things like the Great War didn’t really matter to anyone, it was just history.

And, Jaime Lannister was responsible for defeating all that when he murdered Minister Aerys Targaryen, advisor to King Robert, who he had been assisting.

“That’s impossible, Dorne had wanted to secede for decades.” It was a stupid bone to pick with what he’d said, Brienne blurted the statement and instantly realized that it would have just been easier to ask him why he was talking about this.

“Not badly enough for such a terrible war. Aerys had the King’s ear, and he told him… things, lies about the Dornish, I guess. By the time the fighting started, no one was proving to denounce the reasons for it.”

Brienne nodded, against her better judgment intrigued by his account of the story. Though, she hoped it was for the best that at least she understood how poor a decision it probably was.

In Dornish culture, the story went that the Crown had made the first attack, unprovoked, and it was a gesture of the tyranny go the crown. Though all her life, it had been decried as impartial politicians and papers. It wouldn’t have surprised her— Dorne had been struggling politically since gaining its independence.

“He got what he wanted,” Jaime continued, his voice sounding choked now, no longer tempered with bland disinterest in his own story. “Hundreds of thousands dead. Cities burned. And he would’ve kept it going, destroyed Wintertown, or Lannisport, or King’s Landing.”

“Why?” Brienne could tell if the water, or the story, or both were freezing her all over, making her limbs feel sluggish and heavy. Her heart was beating far too rapidly in her chest for the mild physical exertion of treading water. “He was already an advisor to King Robert, why would he need—“

Jaime shrugged. “I said he was insane. I suppose he wanted more power, or to see the people that had taken it from him suffering.”

Brienne stared at him, aware that her lips were parted, but not speaking. She could think of nothing to say to the confession.

“So, I shot him.” Jaime continued.

Brienne had known it was coming, but when he paused again after four fateful words, her stomach rolled and clenched with shock. Or fear. Or anger. She truly wasn’t sure.

Yet, he went on, not waiting for a response or giving her a moment to think. “And managed to convince my father that it was a misguided attempt to help our family, and he got me out of going to jail for it.”

It felt like there was something lodged in her throat; sob or scream, Brienne didn’t know. She swallowed hard against it, pushing away the haze of confusion, and guilt over how she’d thought of him. If this was at all true, she had been awfully wrong about him and terrible— not even the knowledge that the dislike was plenty mutual was consolation against the fact that, _if_ this was true, she might’ve liked him immediately, had she known.

Not, that it was how she felt now, after a month of fighting him. But, she set that aside too, in favor of the last, lingering doubt about the story.

“Why doesn’t the world know about this?”

Jaime moved for the first time, brushing his hand across the surface of the water, sending ripples across its smooth blue surface that she watched so she’d not have to watch his face.

“The law is the law. It doesn’t matter why I broke it.”

Brienne blinked. “Of course it does!”

Jaime shook his head so vigorously that water washed over his face. He exhaled sharply and wiped the water from his eyes. “No one trusts the Lannisters, Brienne. I’m sure you’re familiar with the idea.”

She nodded, and he fell silent for a long time, eyes fixed on the cloudless blue sky above them. She turned away from him, eyes traveling to the place where the sky met the sea, pale blue cascading into the deep blue of the water surrounding them. Then, she cast her eyes downward to the sandy bottom of the cove she could make out below them. A long piece of old, water-worn wood lay beneath them, it’s image rippling with the water.

Everything felt surreal, she decided. She was weightless from the water, and physically numb from the cold, and mentally so from Jaime’s story. She turned to look back at Jaime, half-convinced he wouldn’t be there, that this and the ‘time travel’ were some hallucination. But, he was still there, on his back, eyes cast sideways towards her— his mouth in a tight, worried, line.

“Say something Brienne,” He said quietly. “Or drown me, or kiss me, or just leave me here if you must— I could make it to shore.”

“Don’t you think you’re being dramatic?” Brienne blurted, instantly unsure if it was the right thing to say.

Instead, Jaime broke into a wide grin. “There you are. I was wondering if I’d shocked you to death.”

Brienne shrugged. “You may succeed in that yet if it’s your goal.”

Jaime reached for her hand again, using it to pull himself upright and hold himself there. “See, now we’ve got a proper truce, you _have_ to trust me.”

Brienne didn’t bother to deny what he said, only tightening her hand around his.

“All right,” Brienne shook his hand slightly. “I can manage that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late... this chapter tortured me and then I was sick yesterday :/ Hope you enjoyed! Stay tuned for another chapter tomorrow, I guess?   
> -B


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne can't sleep. Cersei joins in on the project.

PRESENT - NEW CASTERLY ROCK, LANNISPORT

Brienne hadn’t slept well.

Most of the night was spent lying on her back, eyes fixed on the ceiling and mind racing with thoughts of the day. Sansa was asleep on the other side of the bed and she didn’t want to wake her by pacing around the room— she was already worried enough.

She and Jaime hadn’t made it back until far later than she had hoped— and still, she hadn’t been able to get any work done. Fortunately, she had beat Sansa and Podrick home, so they hadn’t started asking questions until she couldn’t get a lick of work done.

After dinner and a brief phone conversation with Catelyn and her father, she had been ready to give up on doing anything altogether in favor of going to bed. She called down to ask Jaime if she could help him get ready for bed early so she could sleep.

His sister had answered the phone and chided her for bothering Jaime at such a time, not bothering to listen to Brienne’s question. In the background of the call, she made out Tyrion’s voice, sounding even more argumentative than usual. Cersei had ended the call by snapping at her not to come by in the morning either.

After that, any will to sleep was gone wherever her ability to focus had gone. _Lost to anxiety_ , she supposed.

It was tempting to tell Sansa the entire story so she wouldn’t have to be the only one have to carry the knowledge with her. But, it was too bad of an idea to truly entertain— so she told Sansa half the story. Just that she had gone to the cove and their conversation had been disturbing, though she anticipated being scolded for going with him.

Sansa had just looked at her sympathetically and assured her that everyone made mistakes— even Brienne Tarth.

 _As though I didn’t know that,_ Brienne had said. _Everything I do feels like a big mistake._

Sansa laughed, agreed, and told her that they could go home if what had happened in the ruins had been too much for her. Two days ago, she might have considered it, she should consider it still with the revelation that Tyrion fully intended to do a repeat experiment or something.

But, after the cove, she felt urgently that leaving would a far more terrible option.

It had taken her most of the night’s worth of thinking to put that conclusion together. As well as sort out every other thing she was feeling; guilt, pity, respect, fear of the Lannisters, for her friends, sisters, and maybe Jaime as well. She probably liked him a bit now, though it felt too momentous to confess even to herself. Because, he had been terrible, but he was heroic too in a way— _did it cancel out his rudeness? Shouldn’t it have?_ Was it the right thing to do to forgive him because she thought she understood him better or did that make her the world’s biggest idiot?

Sansa would tell her that he was manipulating her, probably, or that he just didn’t deserve to be forgiven even if he could be trusted with this. Arya would’ve told her to believe him, cautiously, if only to find out more about what he wanted. Podrick would tell her to do whatever she thought was right, which was probably the worst response of all, she was already indecisive enough.

The fact of it was, Brienne wanted so badly to change her mind. But her judgment was the first in the long line of things she did terribly.She had been blinded by similar things before; most infamously the Incident that had occurred during her eleventh year. It had been a long while since she’d thought about the bet made by the boys in her grade about who could sleep with her. But it had been the first and last time she’d thought about any sort of personal relationship with a man. Pod and Tyrion had just happened to her by nature of them all working together— this was different. She knew Sansa was thinking about it and skirting around it when they talked.

Brienne did the same, only letting it properly enter her thoughts in the wee hours of the morning and promptly resolving to soldier on as she must— with caution.

At some point, she fell asleep.

She woke to the alarm Sansa had set, sure that she had only managed to fall asleep two hours or so before the thing began ringing.

Sansa turned off the alarm, shifting on the mattress to shake Brienne’s shoulder.

“Brie, alarm.”

Brienne peeled her eyes open reluctantly, not turning to look at Sansa. “I heard it.”

“How are you doing?” Sansa asked, letting herself roll back onto the mattress, jostling it as she shifted to prop herself up on the pillows.

“I didn’t sleep well at all,”

“You can change your mind about leaving, you know.”

Brienne nodded, pushing herself to sit up and swing her legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll tell you if it does.”

Sansa looked at her hesitantly, torn between pushing further and just accepting the decision. Brienne knew Sansa wanted to stay, that she was thoroughly enjoying the opportunity and the few trips she’d taken into Lannisport with Tyrion and Podrick when Brienne was otherwise occupied.

She would hate to take her away from it as much as she’d hate taking Arya away from her new friend and days running around the countryside. Leaving would mean dooming them to at least a month spent in Winterfell, and none of them were keen on subjecting themselves to that.

In fact, there had been talk of bringing Bran to Lannisport for sometime to join them to get him away from the place.

Sansa decided against speaking and simply laid a hand on her shoulder before turning and leaving the room.

When she left, Brienne crossed to the bureau and pulled out a sweater. She shook it out and inspected how wrinkly it was, deciding it was presentable enough to wear.

“Breakfast was delivered,” Sansa called over her shoulder, glancing backward into the room she had just left. “Along with a note from Tyrion. He wants to go back to the ruins.”

Brienne dropped the sweater she held clutched in her hands.

*

There was a courtyard near the center of new Casterly Rock dominated by an enormous fountain of sculptures depicting the deception of Lann the Clever in what Brienne had always considered, an inaccurately violent manner. There was a garden of water plants growing in the bottom of the fountain. Flowers, moss, and vines growing up the bottom parts of the statues, circling the legs of the figures depicted and covering the carved imitation of the promontory. In the height of the summer, the courtyard was brightly lit even in the morning sun, streaming in through the high colored glass windows of the eastern part of the keep.

It was here that they had been instructed to wait by Tyrion’s note. Brienne sat on a bench before the fountain, reviewing all the notes she had brought with her from their rooms to keep less pleasant thoughts at bay. When the notes ran out, and Tyrion had still not appeared, she took to studying another volume she had taken from the library; a collection of letters sent by the last queen of the Westerlands. If she had been drawn to them because they were written in the aftermath of the Westerlands’ collapse at the hands of the Targaryen’s by someone who had also been there that night— Brienne didn’t care to admit it.

Sansa and Podrick waited with her; Sansa pacing and Podrick half-asleep laying on the bench beside her, the top of his head pressing into her thigh.

Arya was there too for a short while, pouring over what looked like a tourist map of the area— until a boy who Brienne was sure was her friend Gendry entered the courtyard looking like he’d been caught mid-crime. He was tall and muscular and emphasized how tiny Arya really was when he stood beside her— though Brienne was sure she had a similar effect on her sister. He had dark hair and light eyes and looked familiar in a way that Brienne couldn’t put her finger on.

“Sorry, I’m just looking for someone. I know not to come up here ordinarily but—“ The boy addressed Brienne as though he expected her to scold him. When he turned and caught a glimpse of Arya, relief melted over his face. “She’s just right there, ma’am.”

Brienne was too surprised to react properly, completely unsure of why the boy thought he needed her permission to be here.

Arya grinned widely when she saw him, and barely took a moment to give her proper excuses to Sansa and Brienne before grabbed his arm and hauling him out of the courtyard, chattering away excitedly.

When they had gone, Podrick opened his eyes, having heard the whole thing and laughed. “Did he think you were one of the Lannisters? Gods, I’m glad I don’t have blonde hair around these parts.”

“He would never think that,” Brienne said. “He was probably just scared meeting someone taller than him.”

Sansa snorted. “It’s probably a rare occurrence for someone like him.”

A door leading to the courtyard shut behind them and they turned with a cohesion that Brienne knew was comical. Tyrion was standing in the doorway on the top step of the short staircase leading down into the courtyard. In front of him, Jaime was gripping the wall for dear life as he tried to walk down the three stairs.

Brienne tried to ignore herself; how her heart rate sped up, her stomach turned, and how she felt a little dizzy for all the things she was trying to think at once. _Then,_ she was nervous about the fact that, if she continued to be nervous, she would inevitably give up the secret by letting people know something was amiss. _Oh, gods._

“I hope you’re not talking about my sex life, Stark,” Tyrion announced.

Sansa glowered at him. “That’s not really appropriate, Lannister.”

Tyrion laughed loudly. “I know it’s not, that’s why I was correcting you. It’s much more apt a description of Jaime’s.”

Sansa was not pleased by the joke and Brienne didn’t miss the look of annoyance she shot her way. But the exchange barely registered with her.

Brienne stared at the grey cobblestones beneath her feet, sharply contrasting with the warm brown leather of her shoes. Suddenly, she was very worried that if she looked at Jaime somehow she wouldn’t be able to keep the secret, that someone would be able to see how she was different, and it would end up hurting him. Or something. Everyone always told her that her face was an open book.

“I think you embarrassed them,” Jaime said loudly, collapsing onto a bench beside the staircase. “A good indication that your jokes aren’t in good taste or humor, I think.”

Tyrion just gave them all long looks before something changed in his glance and he seemed to refocus on what they all— with the possible exception of Jaime, were all there for. His eyes zeroed in on the papers Brienne was holding.

“Oh good, I was wondering where that had gotten off to.” He approached, indicating the thin volume containing the letters she held between her right thumb and middle finger, her index finger used as a bookmark between two of the pages. “Thank you for bringing them.”

Brienne made to move away, a bit peeved that she had not brought them under his instruction and he still felt entitled to taking them from her. “You should have brought your own.”

Tyrion shook his head and patiently held out his hand. “We’ve only got one copy, give it here, Brienne.”

Brienne sighed and passed it to him, resigned to the fact that she wouldn’t be getting it back anytime soon.

And, she instantly regretting giving up the thing to distract her with— Cersei Lannister burst through the door where Tyrion and Jaime had just passed through, awkwardly dragging Jaime’s chair behind her.

“Thank you so much for your help.” She snapped, her eyes burning into Tyrion. “You two look ridiculous, she’d be taller than you on her knees, brother.”

“That’s definitely against university policy.”

Cersei ignored him, focused on getting Jaime settled in his chair, the twins exchanged sharp words, hissed at each other so as not to be overheard by the Starks and Tyrion. Jaime cast her a desperate look that might have been an apology, or a plea. Either might’ve prompted her to go across the courtyard to help before she remembered her agreement with herself; _don’t act like a desperate idiot._

Cersei wheeled him over soon enough and stepped out from behind the chair. “When are we leaving?”

Both Tyrion and Jaime frowned at this sister, though there was something considerably more troubled in Jaime’s expression.

Brienne’s stomach clenched. Standing opposite her, Podrick cast her a question look that she could only return with a subtle— or at least what she prayed was subtle, shake of her head.

“Are you planning on coming too?” Tyrion asked archly.

Cersei nodded. “I thought I ought to know what my long lost brother spent his time on, what was so important that it brought him home even when his family couldn’t.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “I assure you, you’ll be able to report good things back to Father, that paranoid old fool.”

Cersei didn’t even try to combat the assertion that she was on some sort of spying mission. Lannisters were so strange, why on Earth should they even be suspicious of Tyrion’s research on some old war? They have never cared in the past for his passions, apparently deeming them unambitious and trivial.

“Well, we’re going to need to take two cars. Brienne, why don’t you take Jaime with you and I’ll take the others.”

Brienne glared at Tyrion, quite certain he was trying to do her an unwanted favor at best, and mocking her at a much more likely worst. “I’ll take Pod too.”

Tyrion didn’t look happy about her insistence that she do so, but didn’t object; he couldn’t very well do anything without revealing a less-than-practical motivation. “Whatever you want, Tarth.”

Cersei scoffed, and caught Tyrion by the shoulder, looking less than pleased at having to touch him. She dragged him away, bent slightly to whisper something to him. Brienne highly doubted it was an inside joke.

*

Brienne stepped out of the car on a flat, grassy area outside of the ruins, right where the road ended. She had pulled as close to the edge of the cliff as she dared to make sure Tyrion and Cersei had enough space to pull in behind her. It was terribly windy, a storm brewing far out— southwest of them. And the winds blowing off the sea felt as though they could blow the car right off the cliff.

The wind tugged at her hair and sweater the moment she stepped out of the car, making her wish she had brought another jacket— high up on the Rock, it was much, much windier.

She unstrapped Jaime’s chair and slid it down the ramp out of the car— they still hadn’t spoken a word to each other, somehow Podrick’s presence in the car making everything significantly more awkward.

But, as Podrick got out of the car and wandered over to the other’s getting out of their car, they were given a moment alone.

Jaime cleared his throat. “Sleep well?” He asked as though he knew she had barely slept at all.

“No.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s not your fault.” She said shortly, aware that her tone told him that it was. “I’m sorry, I just— I’m truly not angry about what you said, I never could be.”

Jaime nodded. “You didn’t tell your siblings, did you?”

“Of course not, I won’t tell anyone if you would rather I kept it to myself.”

He nodded again, a smile on his face. “In that case, it is our secret.”

Brienne mimicked his nodding, unsure of what else to do, she kept her eyes faraway on the spot where the sea met the sky and their shades of blue mixed together. “You did the right thing, Lannister. I’m sorry no one will know about it.”

“Jaime, Brienne. Just call me Jaime, there are two other Lannisters here and you’re bound to confuse someone soon enough. And don’t be sorry.”

Tyrion was waving them over, his calls to them lost in the winds whipping across the small field where they had parked. The sun shone brightly overhead despite the stormy weather, but he gestured furiously at the castle’s ruins as though it were imperative that they take shelter immediately under one of the roofs that had yet to collapse.

More than likely, he was just impatient.

Brienne pushed Jaime over and allowed herself to be forced out of the way by Cersei, who pushed Jaime and began scolding him for not being able to push the chair.

Tyrion caught her on the arm, pulling her away from Pod and Sansa, who she naturally drifted towards as her friends. He didn’t bring her to Cersei and Jaime either, instead pulling her towards the back of the whole procession and beckoning her to bend down and speak to him.

She was so stooped it was difficult to walk properly, but whatever Tyrion had to tell her, he clearly wantedit to be kept secret.

“How is Jaime?” He asked, a question so far out of what they would ordinarily talk about, she couldn’t think of a response.

“What? Am I meant to be giving you status updates?” She asked, sincerely enough despite feeling peeved that Tyrion felt entitled to the information and that she would likely end up telling it to him.

“He’s fine, which I’m sure he would tell you if only you bothered to ask.”

Tyrion looked at her in exhaustion. “I’m not my father, nor am I my sister, but Jaime has been far more impacted by them. I ask and ask and he refuses to tell me the truth. I knew he wasn’t well before we came. I knew something terrible was going to happen to him if I didn’t help—“

“I think something terrible already happened.”

Tyrion nodded sadly. “I take it he hasn’t shared with you what exactly happened? He won’t tell me either.”

Brienne laughed, a little sad. “I’m sure you’ll be the first to know if he ever decides to relive the night of the accident, Lannister. He has no reason to tell it to me.”

“He has every reason to.” Tyrion argued back. “Why do you think I asked you to look after him?”

Brienne clenched her hands to fists, trying to quell a surging sense of panic at his words. “Because I need the money.”

“Only a very small part of the reason, I assure you.” Tyrion refused to expand further on what he meant by that but his tone was too carefully light to not contain another meaning— or a vague threat. Brienne had yet to crack that Lannister code, though at the rate she was going, it was only a matter of time before she did.

And, without waiting for a response, Tyrion doubled his pace, caught up with Sansa and Podrick and immediately began chatting with them.

Brienne hung back, any sense of panic that she had managed to reign in the previous evening now flowing fully and freely through her. Her progress completely undone by Tyrion’s words.

As they kept moving, her panicked thoughts began to calm, the part of her that needed her to breathe convincing her that Tyrion was just being his ordinary strange self. As she calmed, she was more and more able to focus on the things around her. Her recollections of the ruins of Casterly Rock were somewhat distorted from the rather traumatic experience of their last visit.

Though, this visit, she got a far better impression of what the whole castle than the last.

Much of the morning was spent in pursuit of Tyrion as he flitted from area to area of the castle without properly explaining what he was looking for. He snapped pictures of certain stones and made notes of different things. Brienne found herself able to ignore him after the first twenty minutes— making her own notes and consulting the questions she had written up for a site visit for herself.

There were no rooms left standing. The ruins were mazes of hallways that frayed and split apart and led to nothing because the walls had fallen down. There were collapsing and dilapidated staircases that led to nowhere— or up to a second story that had no floor and no roof, caved in with weather and time.

They would see remnants of fireplaces, their chimneys reaching high into the sky with no walls built around them.

Every so often they came across staircases leading downwards, some of them had been excavated and studied before, some of them hadn’t. It all depended on where the foundations were architecturally sound, and Tyrion had yet to order another inspection that would allow them to explore beneath the surface of ruins. Yet things rose from below; grates venting the kitchens, and quarters, and prison cells that Brienne knew dwelled beneath the castle, and further down still, the entrances to the old mines.

No one had been in the mines since the collapse, rumor had it that the dragon fire had burned so furiously that it had rendered the gold useless. _But that was only legend,_ Brienne thought, it more likely that something had happened to the expensive-to-repair shafts, lifts, and mining tools.

She was far more interested in what lay closer to the surface.

Eventually, they emerged into a place she recognized— not from pictures, or maps, or old sketches but from being there when the castle stood in all its glory.

The great courtyard, where the soldiers had surrendered was overgrown, several large trees and countless weeds having taken root amongst the cobblestones. Off to her left, she saw the tower, undoubtedly the one that she and Jaime had cowered in standing tall amongst the rest of the wreckage.

Tyrion laughed and pointed it out, reminiscing about he and Jaime had played within it once as children.

Brienne jumped when Jaime’s hand closed over her arm, giving it a light squeeze. Though, she quickly amended it by shooting him a tightlipped smile and turning her arm over to grip his forearm right back.

“You recognize it,” Podrick said, eyeing their clasped arms suspiciously. “What happened there?”

Jaime swallowed. “We fought the Targaryens in there. We tried to hide there.”

Podrick took a picture of it, then immediately cast them an apologetic look. “Tyrion’s orders.”

Her concern for what on earth Tyrion was planning was growing by the minute. But again, she wasn’t given the chance to dwell on it before Sansa was beckoning them over to another doorway, leading into another series of courtyards that were falling apart.

Brienne assumed Podrick’s former spot, pushing Jaime’ s wheelchair; far more difficult a task on uneven cobblestones and broken stone floors than in the immaculate floors of new Casterly Rock. Her forearms and shoulders ache before they made it through three more courtyards and Jaime was beginning to wince every time she jostled the chair to navigate a bump.

Though, instead of chastising her, he shot her an apologetic look and was clearly trying to keep his pained expressions to himself. Though, she would likely never know if it was for her sake or to keep Cersei’s scorching looks of disgust away from him.

Sansa led them through a few more corridors, indistinguishable from the other’s they’d passed through, following an old map she held in front of her. Eventually, she turned them into a room— the first one they had found with four walls and a mostly-there ceiling. The walls were burnt, blackened stone and their foot falls kicked up clouds of dark soot.

Against the back wall, the remains of a bed lay, collapsed unevenly, the mattress and blankets, and anything that formerly covered it were long gone and lost to fire. Another charred heap in the opposite corner may once have been a dresser but it was hard to tell.

A torch clicked on— Jaime’s. It’s circular beam roving over the walls, ceiling, and floor revealing dead mice carcasses and the shells of bugs that had perished in the room over the years— things obscured by the dimness of the room. There had been large windows, but they were shattered— shards scattered around the perimeter of the room, and all natural light was blocked at this hour by the keep’s walls beyond the room.

Podrick and Tyrion both snapped several photos of the wreckage and Brienne turned to her own notes, notebook propped against the back of Jaime’s chair and his shoulder as she wrote a few key words to help remember the scene— just in case.

By the time she looked up; Tyrion had Pod in a corner, taking pictures of something he saw on the wall. Cersei stood behind both of them, her face turned away from Brienne, and her arms wrapped around her chest in a way that managed to look poised instead of terrified. Sansa was still writing her own notes in careful script and Jaime was still playing about with the torch he was holding.

“By the gods, Jaime hold that still!” Tyrion called out. “We may have a breakthrough.”

Sansa’s notebook hit the floor, followed in quick secession by her footsteps approaching Tyrion; her book and feet kicking up clouds of soot in her wake.

Brienne pulled her sweater over her mouth, passing Jaime the coat she had hung on the back of his chair so he might block his own airways as they moved closer to Tyrion. When she got a better look, Tyrion was pointing out something carved into the castle walls. Then, gleefully, he flipped through the pages of the book he’d taken from her previously until he reached a page that had a similar— possibly the same patterns in the margins.

“So?” Cersei was the first one to ask— predictably, as the rest of them knew the answer to that very, very well by now.

“It’s just a puzzle, I don’t know what it means yet,” Tyrion remarked cheekily.

Brienne thanked all the gods that he hadn’t chosen the moment to bring the whole thing up.

But, Cersei sneered anyways. “You’re here chasing another one of your harebrained schemes, aren’t you? Some conspiracy that ancient and evil forces are here in Lannisport.”

Tyrion shrugged. “Not exactly any of your business, sister-mine.”

“Yes, it is!” Cersei protested. “This is my property, and so it’s my business. Did you think that father would give his estate to someone less competent? Or to someone who has never shown our family an ounce of loyalty?”

“No one wants the ruins anyways, Cersei,”

“Nothing is more important to family than history.” Cersei retorted. “Don’t you ever listen, this place is ours to care for and keep up and respect not deface with your strange drawings.”

Tyrion held up his hands. “It wasn’t me, I promise.”

It didn’t make a world of difference if Tyrion had done it or not.

Jaime’s hand tightened on hers again, just if she was beginning to wonder if she were scared and stressed, or beginning to experience _the symptoms_ again.

“Brienne, let’s go.”

Brienne didn’t hesitate a moment before wheeling Jaime from the room and starting down the hallways. They made it to the first corridor they’d entered, purely back accident and by virtue of her panicked turning. Cersei and Podrick followed them from the room, leaving Tyrion and Sansa in the dust.

When they reached the courtyard and paused, Brienne fell to her knees leaning against the armrest of Jaime’s chair, her breath coming in raspy pants from the anxiety and particularly carrying a wheelchair out of the destroyed castle. But the symptoms were abating; there was no silver mist and no dizziness. Nothing but her breathing was out of the ordinary.

“It almost—“ She began, cut off by Jaime’s knowing look. “It might have…”

A hand alighted on Jaime’s shoulder, another round the back of his shoulders— a hand connected with Cersei’s arm. Her face was radiant and full of sympathy, smiling with a sort of kindness Brienne could scarcely imagine from her but wanted to trust implicitly.

“Jaime, are you okay?” Cersei’s voice was a little shaky, but also a bit like an actress in a film.

Jaime pressed a hand across his face, glancing back at her for the briefest of moments. “Brienne.. and I… need to go.”

Cersei nodded in fierce agreement, her hand clutching Jaime’s shoulder tightly. “I can help you. I’ll help both of you.”

In the utter confusion, separated from the rest of their companions, Brienne was having trouble deciding whether or not this was a good idea, or if she should be worried. Though, she couldn’t hear her own decisions over the ceaseless wailing in her head at the thought that she had nearly been made to go back. 

3 WEEKS LATER - UNKNOWN 

Brienne was lying on stone when she came to, the first thing she saw was a ceiling made of wooden beams. Wherever she was was firelit, as told by the flickering shadows playing on the beams to her right.

The last thing she recalled before laying on the stone, in the room, was being in Casterly Rock— on their third visit, back at the place where they had stood and argued with Cersei. She remembered seeing the shimmering mist, feeling dizzy, falling, all of the things that were familiar in the least pleasant way possible.

To her right, there was a coughing, spluttering sound and she jerked her head to the side. Unsurprisingly, but somewhat unfortunately, Jaime was laying beside her, half a foot away, features screwed up as he coughed into the crook of his elbow.

“You okay?” She asked weakly, for lack of anything better to say.

Jaime peeled an eye open, and seeing her seemed to cure him of coughing. “It’s smoky in here.” He croaked. “Where are we now?”

Brienne gave him a long look. “It happened again, didn’t it?”

Jaime’s hand scraped over the floor until it found hers, skin on stone making a faint hissing sound as they rubbed over each other. Even such a faint sound was loud when it was so quiet here— and so _cold,_ Brienne realized. Jaime’s fingers twined with hers, his skin warm where her’s was sure to be freezing.

“Yeah, it did,” Jaime said, his tone was delicate, as though he expected her to snap at the news.

He wasn’t so far off. Her stomach rolled, twisted, and clenched at the news and she knew she was clinging to Jaime’s hand far more than she should have been. They weren’t where they had been before, they weren’t under attack from archers, or anything. In fact, the more she glanced around, the more the room looked like one of the cellars at Winterfell.

She thought of saying so to Jaime but realized quickly enough that he would take it as her not believing in him and deciding against it. Brienne had no energy for fighting him right now, not with how frightened she was.

“We’ll be fine,” Jaime said, his fingers tightening in hers all while he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself that it was true. “You’ll be able to figure it out for us.”

Brienne turned her head to look at him, only to find that he was already looking at her. Relief seeped into his eyes when she did, as though he wasn’t entirely convinced before that she was with him.

“Where do you think we are?” He asked, as though he didn’t truly expect her to have an answer. “Which of Tyrion’s crackpot theories do you think has the best chance of working for us?”

Brienne considered the question for a moment— clearly Tyrion had always been preferential to the symbols theory. And she suspected that it was the one most grounded in reality if they could put together the way everything worked. Over the past three weeks, since they had encountered another symbol during their trip with Cersei, he had talked of little else.

Jaime knew that. She suspected he was only trying to engage her in conversation to calm her down a bit.

“He talks of the symbols constantly, I have to assume that if he is even close to the solution, that’s the one we should operate under.”

Jaime nodded. “It still doesn’t explain why you’re always with me.”

“Or you’re always with me.” Brienne retorted, pointedly, though she resisted the urge to pull her hand out of his more easily that she should have.

“You’re definitely the side kick in this,” Jaime insisted, prompting her to roll her eyes. The warmth welling up in her chest at the good-natured teasing almost made her forget about the probably grave situation they would be facing soon enough.

“Absolutely not, you are.” Brienne shot back. “You talk a lot, but I’m the better fighter between the two of us— have you never read a book?”

Jaime grinned at her. “So, where are we, Ser Brienne? Back in Casterly Rock? It doesn’t quite seem like it? Wood is exceedingly uncommon in architecture here.”

Brienne didn’t know the answer to that question— possibly the north, everything was wood in the North. And the cold was another piece of evidence, but it wouldn’t make sense. Before they were in Casterly Rock and they had gone back in time to Casterly Rock. To think that they were traveling geographically as well as chronologically, was much, _much_ more confusing.

“We know the symbol on the wall matches the letters,” Brienne began carefully, hoping the theory didn’t sound completely off the wall. “Written by the last queen of the Westerlands, Joanna—“

“My mother was named for her,” Jaime supplied, quite unhelpfully.

“Interesting. But, perhaps we are around the place, or time that one of those was written. If you recall, we were the two servants referenced in the squire’s account—“

Jaime cut her off with a shake of his head. “That’s insane.”

Brienne had to nod her agreement, though she had spent long hours considering it since Tyrion had brought it to her attention.

“Then, I don’t recall anything like that in the letters… but it is possible that it works like that.”

“We’re conjured by the writings?”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “No, we have to be there to influence them in the first place, so that’s how— oh gods, I can’t explain it at all.”

Jaime rolled towards her until he was lying on his side, pressed against her as she lay on her back. He brought their hands to lay on her stomach, not letting her go.

“We made it through the last time, there’s no way this has to be any different, and we know it doesn’t last too long.”

Brienne nodded, repeating his words to herself, hoping they would make her heart stop beating so frantically and her stomach from feeling like the sea during a storm.

“We should go,” Brienne jerked her chin at the trapdoor in the ceiling with a ladder protruding from it. “See what’s going on outside.”

Jaime grinned. “That’s the spirit!”

He sat up, tugging her hand so that she joined him.

“Are you ready, Brienne?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short update but oh well, things will be getting more crazy next time, I think. Thanks for reading!  
> -B


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the past, Brienne steals from some soldiers. In the present, the situation suddenly seems much more serious.

UNKNOWN:

They quickly found the room they had woken in was a cellar; dirt walls and a dirt-and-stone floor. A trapdoor pulled down from the ceiling and a ladder propped against the wall could be set up, allowing them to climb into the main room.

Brienne went first seeing as Jaime would have a hard time climbing the ladder once and wouldn’t be a useful scout in the slightest. She scaled the ladder, easily pulling herself through the hole and kneeling on the floor beside the barrels.

The room above them was a storage room, thankfully, filled with bags of flour and large sealed barrels. Outside of the basement, it was much warmer, she noted, grateful not to be shivering in her sweater any longer.

Brienne leaned over the trapdoor to see Jaime, staring up at her with a perplexed look on his face.

“Storage room.” She said. “I’m going to go a bit further, see what I can,”

Jaime frowned. “Your clothes!”

Brienne waved it aside. “No one will see me— if you say that it’s hard to miss a giant I swear I’ll shut you down there for as long as we are here.”

Jaime was chastised, as though her preemptive jab at herself was exactly what he had thought to say.

“I would never say that.” He blurted out, liar that he was.

Brienne shot him one last look of disbelief and exhaustion before rising to her feet and making for the door. The doorway was built for people much smaller than she, and she had to stoop to not smack her forehead on the dense wood beam.

Beyond the storage room, there was a hallway that looked barely different than the basement they had been kept in. Dirt coated stones made up the floor and rough wooden beams made the walls, also caked with dirt. She knew it was a sort of old-fashioned insulation used in many of the southern regions of Westeros, it was never so hot in the north that such tactics were employed.

There was no one in this hallway either, though it led into what looked to be a dining area. Long wooden tables were crowded with bodies, eating from wooden bowls and drinking from tankards. She hadn’t immediately taken in the roar of noise coming from the room above all else she had noticed, and the noise of her own thundering heartbeat in her ears.

Brienne leaned against the wall, out of the golden light spilling into the hallway from the dining room and inched closer. If they saw her, she thought, she would have to retreat to the room below them until they all left and pray that no one followed.

As she approached, she noticed that the bodies were soldiers, still clade in the leather under-armor garments she recognized from countless museums. The Lannister-lion sigil that saturated practically every room of their current dwelling was emblazoned on their shoulders and chests. They were subdued; the noise seemed to be due to the quantity of the voices and not the volume at which they spoke.

She couldn’t look further into the room towards a door, or bar, or anything beyond a small sea of tables without revealing herself so she retreated into the hallway and turned her attention to the other side of the hallway— to the left of the door to the supply closet.

There were a series of doors, similar to the supply closet, rough wood outfitted with gilded black metal hinges.

The first one she tried was a bedroom, belonging to several of the soldiers if the strewn armor and weaponry was any indication. There was only one small bed, but five bedrolls had been set up edge-to-edge before the fire.

Heedless of their size, Brienne grabbed two undershirts lying about, contributing to the disarray of the room. There were only two shoes lying around, each from a different pair of boots, though fortunately when put together made a right-foot and left-foot pair.

Down the hall, a door slammed. Brienne jumped, feeling all of her nerves clench at the sound. A soldier stormed past the room where she stood but did not stop. After a moment, there was an explosion of noise from the dining hall, shouts, but ones of pride and glee rather than of terror.

Her nerves eased and Brienne turned back to the room. After a moment’s consideration and near-crippling guilt, she rolled up the first bedroll from the fire, noting with relief that it had no Lannister insignia to remove. Into the bedroll, she tucked the shoes and shirts and then tucked the bundle under her arm and fled.

She tried to force herself to walk calmly down the hallway and shut the storage door as quietly as possible before slumping against the door, completely breathless.

“Brienne?” Jaime’s voice drifted through the still open trapdoor and she paused a moment to curse herself for not shutting it when anyone could enter.

“It’s me.”

She reached behind her head and flipped the bar over and slide it into its keyhole, barring the door.

“Where are we?” Jaime asked. “Where are you?”

Brienne pitched forward onto her knees, planting her hands on the edge of the hole, her fingernails dug into the underside of the hatch, into the cool, packed dirt.

“An inn, it seems.” She replied. “Come up here.”

Jaime looked at her helplessly.

“I’ll be more useful here to pull you up, you only need to make it up two rungs before I can probably lift you.”

The two rungs were a lot to ask of him, and she felt bad for it, knowing how much pain he’d been in recently. But when his feet were firmly planted on the third rung, she was able to pull him up under the arms, making the rest of the climb less painful.

Nevertheless, Jaime collapsed on his back, grimacing in pain and breathing hard when she got him up.

“I took things,” She said, knowing she sounded as weak and guilty as she felt, offering him the bedroll.

Jaime raised his eyebrows at her. “The goody-two-shoes, Miss Brienne Tarth, stealing from hotel rooms.”

“I’m trying to help you, idiot.”

Jaime took the bedroll from her, fumbling it awkwardly in his left hand as he eased the ties off of it and unfurled it. He withdrew the two shoes and shirts and looked at her in exasperation.

“Was there nothing else?”

Brienne shook her head. “I wasn’t going to risk going into more rooms and getting caught.”

“Do you think we ought to have anticipated this and worn different outfits?” Jaime asked casually, as though wondering what she had done the previous evening. “We did go to Casterly to see if we could… do it again.”

Brienne shrugged. “I tried, though I don’t have much that would mimic fashions from so long ago— _if you even start—“_

Jaime held up his hands in surrender. “Saying that you already dress like someone’s grandmother? You implied it, not me.”

“Well, I tried.” Brienne gestured to her pants, brown linen and loose-fitting— too nicely woven and stitched for the time thanks to machinery. They were ill-fitting on her disproportionately tall, and shapeless body, a result of modern mass-production. But, tucked into laced boots, they nearly worked. “You can’t say the same.”

Jaime shrugged, glancing down at his woefully less-appropriate slacks and a button-down. “You should have told me what we were going for.”

“Just put dirt on your trousers and tuck them into the boots. Wear the shirt loose over the waist, and maybe we won’t be instantly interrogated.”

“I suppose I’m just disappointed you didn’t swordfight whoever these were for all their clothing since you’re so good.”

Brienne bowed her head, massaging her temples with her first two fingers. “This place is filled with soldiers, Jaime. Lannister soldiers who will be looking for a thief in a matter of time, so if we could please start moving—“

“Moving?” Jaime demanded. “Where are we going?”

“To find out where and when we are and what the hell is happening to us, as we’ve been planning to since Harrenhal.”

“We didn’t have to move last time to find out all that much.”

“And I doubt we’ll go, or make it far again.” Brienne returned. “But hiding in this cellar with stolen things is very, very far from a good start.”

As she spoke, she knelt and retrieved the second shirt, adjusting it so that it was right-side-in and spreading it before her. Her fingers went to curl over the bottom edge of her jumper before she paused and looked at Jaime who was still watching her.

He was clearly distracted, but it was still rather unnerving.

“Jaime, get moving, and keep your eyes to yourself.”

She turned her back to change, hearing only his frustrated noises as he tried to dress himself. She focused on making sureher tunic was tucked carefully to cover the belt loops and zippers on her trousers and finding a loose string from the bedroll to replace her hair elastic to tie the end of her braid, and not on his cursing. When she turned back around; Jaime was twisted up, holding one end of his shoelace between his teeth and trying to wrap the other one around it.

Brienne brushed him aside and tied the shoes for him, not wasting a moment before pulling him to his feet. Then, she gathered their things and stashed them behind one of the bags of flour. She was turning to leave when Jaime’s hand snaked out and pulled off the glasses till perched on her nose.

He proceeded to toss them haplessly over his shoulder and one of the lenses cracked. She was about to be angry at him for it before she realized it didn’t truly matter; they, if the Harrenhal staff had been right, would always return unharmed and with everything they had before leaving.

She just rolled her eyes and pulled open the door. If she jerked him after her a little harder than necessary, she thought, that was just the price he paid for the glasses.

The dining hall had quieted down, the light pouring into the hallway was dimmer and fewer bodies made up the writhing mass that the room had been just half an hour before.

Brienne shifted the bedroll on her shoulder uneasily and advanced towards the dining hall. Jaime followed, gasping in pain every few steps.

Clearly, any investigation they did would not be involving a lot of walking. At least on his part. Brienne wished, not for the first time, that the universe, or whatever strange thing was causing this, had picked someone else for this job. Podrick, Tyrion, Sansa, hells— even Cersei. She felt terribly about asking him to do things that hurt, and, would probably be dangerous if repeated for longer than a brief spurt.

They entered the dining hall to little fanfare. No one so much as glanced their way as they sidled around the edge of the room, making for the door. The room was not much larger than what she had seen before. With a door, standard with all the others she’d seen in the building, with a bar to its right and a hearth with a blazing fire to its left.

The only time they were spoken to was by a soldier, sitting on a chair beside the door, keeping his own company with a heavy scowl on his face.

“You’re going out there? In this weather?” He spoke to Jaime, giving him a suspicious once over. “I hope she’s worth it.”

Jaime looked horrified and Brienne stepped in.

“Come along, brother, it’s no use starting fights with this sort.” Brienne shoved the door open and resisted the urge to throw a dirty look in the direction of the soldier like she would have done if he was speaking about Arya or Sansa. She doubted ladies of the time did the same, it was reckless to do even in her own time.

Jaime followed her outside, where, they found immediately what the soldier spoke of. It was pouring rain, the grounds outside the inn had turned into a sea of mud.

There were rows and rows of vibrant, red, military tents off to their left and a paddock for the horses on the right. Where there wasn’t men, tents, or horses on the ground, there was only mud; rutted and pitted from being walked and rode over.

By the time she turned back to Jaime, taking in the scene, his hair was plastered to his forehead, and streams of water ran off his head, down his cheeks. Behind his head, she caught a glimpse of the sign, done in faded paint on the front of the building. _The Crossroads Inn._

Jaime tracked her gaze to the sign and then looked back at her. “Interesting. Place still exists today, but, I have to say, this shack might look worse than the garish mansion that’s here now.”

Brienne shook her head, droplets of water shaking from her braid, clothes, and cheeks. “When did the Lannister army have a camp here?”

Jaime shrugged. “Probably often. Should we go ask the barkeep what year it is?”

Brienne shook her head. “Of course not, we'll spy on the soldiers.”

PRESENT - LANNISPORT

After Cersei’s tagging along to the ruins, they took to meeting in different places around Lannisport. Tyrion took to discreetly delivering instructions on how to find the days’ meeting place, as though going through public-record historical accounts from the Lannister library were the height of spycraft.

It was amusing at first. None of them quite understood why there wasn’t simply a moratorium on talking about The Incident while at work, it wasn’t officially part of the project.

Until it was official, and no longer so amusing. A week after they had fled the ruins, igniting a storm of questions from Cersei that Tyrion was confident they’d waved off, Tyrion announced that he was intent on looking more into it, and thought that doing so would help them all.

Brienne had known it was coming. They all had. But, she and Sansa were infuriated by the news all the same.

He had broached the topic in the back dining room of a cafe in east Lannisport where Brienne and Sansa had been trying to spend the morning on their own work. How desperately that time was needed was beginning to stress Brienne out; since the Incident, she had gone from being weeks ahead of schedule to only a week ahead of schedule. The cafe was loud, and crowded and dimly lit as the backroom had no windows and the walls were painted a deep shade of blue that only made the space seem smaller and darker. 

When Tyrion gave his speech, another wordy and needlessly grandiose announcement that had people around them snickering, she glanced at Sansa seeing her own resignation reflected there. A weeks’ advance wouldn’t be nearly enough to also deal with the escalating nonsense.

“First thing’s first,” Tyrion began, taking a scroll from the table and passing it to Podrick. “We need to find more of the symbols, match them to locations in the ruins, and then get help monitoring those locations to see what’s going on.”

Sansa stopped him short of explaining what this meant and how it was meant to be done. “How long is this going to take, Tyrion? We have other things we’re meant to be doing.”

“Stark, please, this is the biggest revelation in historical research that there has ever been, whatever these other things are, they’re going to have to wait.”

“Other things like getting my doctorate? Are you fucking joking?”

Brienne put a hand up, hoping to stop them from yelling at each other in public.

“You’re going too far, Lannister.” Sansa quieted at Brienne’s silent request but didn’t stop fighting him on it. “We sneak around this town like your father and sister are going to kill us for what we’re looking into, so either, you’ve lost it and we need to take a step back. Or, there’s something dangerous going on that we’ve not been informed of, in which case, you should probably tell us.”

Tyrion seemed to consider it for a moment, long enough to make even Brienne think that there was something he was going to tell them.

He took a deep breath, Brienne shivered, the hair on the back of her neck standing up.

“Stark, listen—“

“Tyrion, don’t,” Jaime spoke up, setting whatever he had been reading aside. “You’re scaring the poor girl.”

Sansa glared at Jaime. “I’d like to hear what he has to say for himself, thanks.”

“You really don’t.” Jaime continued, no longer in the easy tone he’d chided Tyrion with moments before, almost as though he were afraid.

“So, there’s something,” Sansa concluded.

“Nothing more than our family being,” Jaime’s words seemed to fail him.

“Unstable.” Tyrion supplied, spreading his hands in front of him as though it were the whole truth, and he had nothing left to hide. “I’ve never known my father to not be cruel and paranoid, though I expect that’s what comes from a life spent in politics. And my sister follows in his footsteps, do you think she followed us just because she was interested in my research, or because she was curious why we all ended up in the hospital one night and all that?”

“Obviously, she was spying on us. We all got that before she even lied about _why_ she was coming.” Sansa snapped. “But that’s crazy, I’m researching feminist history, that’s all. It’s not going to hurt anyone, and the fact that it's attracting espionage is not appropriate.”

Jaime nodded. “It’s a terrible idea, Tyrion. We don’t know that it wasn’t something else—“

“You said yourself, both of you, that you started to feel the same sorts of things while we were in the ruins the second time. You told me that’s why you left and caused a scene. That’s evidence enough that there’s something going on.”

“What if it’s not safe? What if Brienne gets hurt?”

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. “What if you get hurt?”

“I’m your brother, it’s different.”

Tyrion sighed. “Brienne, you agree, right? You’re not afraid.”

Brienne hesitated. “Of course I am!”

Jaime shook his head. “You see? You can’t ask it of her.”

“I can talk.” Brienne cut in, her annoyance chipping away at her confusion. “Tyrion, I’m just not sure it’s safe. They’ve studied things like this before, it didn’t end well at Harrenhal, remember? It was only what? Six years ago that they had the fire?’

Tyrion scoffed and opened his mouth to speak but was cut off— Jaime choked on his coffee, slamming the mug back on the table and doubling over. Podrick reached over uncertainly and pounded him on the back. When he straightened and brushed Podrick aside, muttering an apology, he wouldn’t take his eyes off the table.

“That was physics, this isn’t.” Tyrion continued, looking askance at Jaime.

Brienne raised her eyebrows. “You don’t think?”

“It could be different,” Tyrion amended. “It’s no matter, we’ll just gather our evidence and pay a visit to the scientists at Harrenhal. They should be able to tell us something more definitive.”

Sansa spluttered out three false starts before blurting; “Harrenhal? Oh, honestly Tyrion, can’t we just let it be?”

Neither leaving it nor pursuing it was a particularly good option.

“We need other people involved,” Brienne said carefully. “We shouldn’t let it sit, it’s too much of curiosity, but we cannot handle it ourselves.”

“No! We should leave it alone,” Jaime argued. “There are other ways.”

“Like what?”

Jaime didn’t have an answer to that and turned away.

“Exactly why I suggested we visit the scientists at Harrenhal, they may have some insight.”

Brienne nodded. “Fine, but after that, I still won’t go back to the ruins.”

“Yes, you will,” Tyrion said firmly, his voice foreboding enough to kill any will for arguing she had left.

“No, she won’t.” Sansa and Jaime said at once, exchanging surprised looks at speaking in unison.

“I draw the line at finding out why it happened,” Brienne explained. “I’m not going to repeat the experiment.”

*

Sansa wanted to stay in Lannisport after they had finished work for the day— Podrick was sent home with Tyrion, Jaime, and all of their things after they extracted a promise from him to look out for Arya when he returned and make sure she was not out too late.

Sansa dragged Brienne to a bar, one that was quiet and not crowded, thankfully, as per Brienne’s tastes. Brienne heavily suspected that it had been chosen for such a reason, to convince her to stay long enough for Sansa to thoroughly discuss the plan they had made that afternoon.

They had scarcely taken their seats in a booth near the back of the restaurant when Sansa burst out.

“What in seven hells are we going to do, Brie?”

Brienne shrugged. “Wait around, Tyrion has to stop eventually, and I can’t risk losing my job for arguing with him. I’m so close to graduating.”

Sansa nodded. “My mom would understand, she could help with a semester’s worth of tuition, you don’t have to do this.”

Brienne shook her head. “I know. I need to at least try to avoid it though—“

“It could be dangerous, even Jaime was worried— well, probably worried about us suing his family, but he must think something terrible is going to happen if we would consider suing him.”

Brienne nodded absently. “Sansa, you don’t have to stay just because I’m going to, Pod can help me.”

“No, absolutely not. I am not going anywhere until you are. I know you hate people trying to watch out for you, but I know how upset it made you last time.”

Brienne almost corrected her, but she couldn’t share the true reason. She just nodded and felt overwhelmingly guilty that by not sharing, she was keeping Sansa in a situation that clearly unnerved her. And any lie she could come up with as to other reasons were either nonsensical and so extreme that Sansa would surely insist they go to the police.

“What do we always say? The pack…”

“Survives, yes.” Brienne finished for her, though the word left a bit of a bitter taste in her mouth. The issue of her being a Stark, or not belonging as a Stark had a fifteen-year history that could perhaps be best described as contentious.

Sansa caught the twist of her mouth and sighed. “It applies to you too. Should we talk about something else? Bran told me yesterday that he was thinking about asking out that friend of his, Meera?”

Brienne snorted. “Oh, really? He hasn’t mentioned a thing to me.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “I had to hear it from Arya, and then my mother. Apparently, Mother isn’t very happy about it.”

“I thought she liked the Reeds,” Brienne replied, grateful at the chance to talk about anything else.

“Oh, she does. She just refuses to acknowledge that Bran isn’t ten years old anymore. Honestly, just because he can’t walk…”

Brienne grit her teeth, understanding exactly what Sansa was talking about. Catelyn meant well but seemed to think that because Bran needed help with some things meant that he was incapable of independence.

“She’ll say yes, I hope he’s not worrying.”

“Apparently, Arya has already called over to the Reeds to make sure he’s not walking into any trouble.”

Brienne grinned. “I take it he’s not?”

“Miss Stark? Miss Tarth? What a pleasant surprise!”

Brienne twisted in her seat to see Cersei and Tywin Lannister standing a few feet behind her chair.

_Seven fucking hells._

She forced her undoubtedly-shocked face to her best imitation of a pleased smile. “Mister Lannister, Cersei, hello.”

“We were just meeting an old friend here for dinner, but we’re a bit early,” Cersei’s voice sounded completely different than it did speaking to either of her siblings or them in private. It was polite, and cordial, and sickeningly deceiving.

Sansa smiled. “Brienne and I just finished work for the day.”

Cersei laughed. “Has my brother given you a day off from following him around, Miss Tarth?”

“I told him to find a way to do without me for a few hours. Though, I think his back was hurting so it shouldn’t be much of a problem.”

Cersei pouted, sympathetic for her twin. “It’s so good of you to help him like this.”

_That’s not what you said two weeks ago._ Brienne wanted to say. Arya or Sansa would have said it if they were alone.

Brienne just smiled and said something to play it off as no big deal. And Cersei threw herself into the booth beside Sansa. Tywin followed her lead, albeit, more stiffly sitting in the seat beside Brienne’s.

“Yes, I think it’s been rather good that you’ve started bringing him along on these work trips, he had been wasting too much time alone in his rooms.” Tywin acknowledged. “Though I never thought he would be so interested in his brother’s research.”

Brienne shrugged. “It’s interesting enough. I expect he’s just bored, though. He provides quite the distraction sometimes with all the talking.”

Tywin chuckled, though the sound was clearly artificial. “I’m sure you’re doing important work. Don’t feel as though you have to indulge him,”

“Brienne doesn’t do that, sir,” Sansa assured. “She’ll keep him in line.”

“Good,” Tywin said, allowing an uncomfortable silence to fall over the table for a moment.

“Where did you go today?” Cersei asked. “I went down to the library to find Jaime, but he was nowhere to be found.”

Brienne tensed and didn’t allow herself to look at Sansa for reassurance for surely the look would not go unnoticed by their companions.

“Professor Lannister arranged an interview with a local whose family is in possession of some rather fascinating artifacts we were hoping to see. Though, it doesn’t seem we’ll have to chance to because the man is leaving Lannisport soon.”

“What kinds of artifacts?” Cersei played an interested bystander well in voice, but her eyes sparked with malice.

Brienne didn’t think she was being paranoid with that detail.

“Dragon scales, old Targaryen battle plans. Probably not of a lot of interest when you have a home full of such things.”

Brienne stepped on Sansa's foot, casting her a warning look.

But Tywin only chuckled again. “You’re as spirited as your mother, Miss Stark. I only have to say that I’m quite relieved Tyrion has given up on those ruins. We do try to keep people away, it’s not very safe up there.”

“Why?” Sansa blurted. “What’s wrong with them?”

Tywin spread his hands in a calming gesture. “We own the land, but it’s so run down, it’s barely worth keeping up. I doubt it’s architecturally sound. We wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt, so I trust you girls will try to keep my sons in line. I would hate to have to put a stop to all this.”

Brienne’s stomach clenched but she forced herself to nod understanding and press her lips together in what she hoped was a serious, but not fearful expression.

“Of course. If you’ll excuse us, I should get back to make sure Jaime isn’t waiting on my help. Sansa?”

Sansa nodded quickly, jerking out of her own state of barely-concealed shock. “Yes, I should make sure Arya has come back from her… hike.”

They bid farewell to Tywin, and Cersei, who made no effort to stop them from going as they watched them seeming self-satisfied at having unnerved the both of them. For the first time, Brienne found herself wondering if they knew what had happened to her, and what she had done to that Targaryen soldier.

The idea had her hurrying away even faster than before; she burst through the door into the air nearly frantic.

Sansa hurried out behind her, barely waiting until they were through the door to pull on Brienne’s arm, forcing them face-to-face, her eyes wide and terrified. “They _definitely_ know something.”

*

Jaime was in his sitting room when she arrived, struggling to write something with his non-dominant hand.As she let herself into the room, he cursed and threw a balled-up paper at the door, catching her on her left thigh.

There was only one light on in the room near Jaime, lighting him and the couch up like a spotlight in the otherwise dark room. She cautiously flicked on another light and sighed.

“Should I come back later?”

Jaime shot her an apologetic look. “Now’s fine. You’ve seen me worse.”

_Anytime after physical therapy_ , she guessed, that was when he was truly at his grumpiest.

Brienne crossed the room and offered him an arm to help him up. Jaime eyed her with distaste, likely not pleased about having to stand. He took it anyway, tried, and failed to stand and looked back to her with pleading eyes.

“What? You want me to pick you up?”

Jaime didn’t nod, but his expression said ‘yes’ for him.

Brienne stooped, one arm supporting him around his shoulders, the other going under his knees. He was quite light, far more so than she had anticipated.

“How’s your sister?” Jaime asked, carefully casual as though this was something they had done many a time.

“They’re both fine. Sansa and I saw your sister and father in town.”

Holding him to her chest, she could feel him tense all the way down.

“Why?”

“To threaten us, it seems. They want us to keep Tyrion away from the ruins lest it collapses on him, though I doubt that’s what they’re worrying about, somehow.”

“You’re too smart for your own good, Tarth.”

Brienne scoffed. “I think it’s more that your family has little talent for subtlety and a great talent for being intimidating.”

“See, you are smart, you’ve figured out our weakness.” Jaime insisted, voice hitching as she deposited him on his bed— which probably hurt. “Thanks.”

“Do you want a painkiller?”

“I’ve already had three.”

Brienne sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. “Is there anything else to be done?”

Jaime shook his head, then after a moment’s consideration, patted the mattress beside him. “Distract me?”

Brienne hesitated a moment, then sat cautiously on the opposite side of the bed, as close to the edge as she could. There was a good five feet of space between them and her legs dangled off the edge but it still felt strange. She wouldn’t have done it if she weren’t so horribly tired— the wine she had had with Sansa after working doing little to help with the situation.

“Distract you with what?”

Jaime waggled his eyebrows at her and she threw a pillow at him, forcing him to relent. “I don’t know, what do you want to talk about?”

“Hmmm, maybe that a second family member of yours has threatened me? We could talk about what that’s all about.”

Jaime paled. “All right, anything but that. Why don’t you tell me something about history?”

“Just, like, all of history, or? Because that’s a bit of a complicated ask.”

“What do you think would interest me?”

Brienne considered for a moment. “You’re the second Jaime Lannister, the second Lannister of your name.”

She was amused to find that this did interest him— she had meant it as a jest about his being a narcissist. Though he seemed to have missed it.

“What did he do?”

Brienne wracked her brain for details, but truly, he hadn’t been very important. “He was a knight, I believe, married some girl from a minor house in the Stormlands. Oh, I think he had a sexual relationship with his sister—“

Jaime made an expression as though he were gagging. “Horrifying, why would my father ever—“

Brienne shook her head, settling back against the pillows a little bit and drawing a knee to her chest. “He died in a boat accident— which, fun fact, was the same way that my namesake died.”

“ _Same_ boat accident?”

“No, I don’t quite remember when the first Jaime was alive, but I’m like sixty-percent certain it was before the Great War.”

“Only sixty-percent? Doesn’t seem very certain to me, Miss Tarth.” Jaime slid down the mattress, pulling his sheets up to his shoulder, and shutting his eyes. “Perhaps you should study harder—“

“Don’t you think I do enough for you already?” Brienne allowed her eyes to fall shut for a moment as well, waiting for him to continue the conversation.

Only, he didn’t, and neither did she. And at some point, she must have fallen asleep because the next thing she knew; she was jolted awake sometime later by the shrill ringing of a telephone, utterly disoriented.

“What’sgoingon?” Jaime grumbled, somewhere to her left, all his words slurring together in exhaustion. “Hey, do you have your shoe on my bed? Brienne!”

Brienne peeled her eyes open, blinking like it would clear the fog from her brain. Her neck was bent at a painful angle, tipped back against the pillows. She turned on her side, in the moment mostly concerned with straightening her neck out, though she bent her legs so that her feet dangled off the edge of the bed.

The phone was still ringing.

“Turn that off,” She groaned.

“Why are you still here?”

“ _Lannister,”_

Jaime leaned over and took the phone from its cradle. “What in seven hells could you want at,” He paused to glance at the alarm clock. “Two-oh-six in the morning?”

Brienne was slipping back to sleep when Jaime hit her with the end of his right arm. “It’s Sansa.”

Brienne propped herself up on her elbow and took the receiver, to Jaime’s loud protests as the cord hit him in the face and pulled taut over his throat before he fell back to the mattress.

“Sansa? What’s wrong?”

“You’re not back yet! Where are you?”

“You know where I am, you called Jaime.”

“Oh, right, _why the hells—“_

_“_ Please stop yelling, I don’t know how I fell asleep.”

“I’m coming down—“

“No, really, I’m fine. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Brienne—“

“ _Sansa,_ go back to bed.”

“Be careful, you kn—“

“ _Goodnight, Sansa.”_

Brienne passed the phone back to Jaime who set it back in the cradle. They didn’t speak again and Brienne slipped easily back to sleep to strange dreams of an old castle, filled with the happy cries of playing children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments & constructive criticism are always appreciated :)  
> -B


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the past Brienne and Jaime meet a Red Priestess. In the present, Tyrion arranges another trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, take two-- chapter content is the same but it looked like it got scrambled by the word to html thingy I use. More to come soon, and sorry to anyone who had trouble reading this the last time I posted it :)

144 AC - THE INN AT THE CROSSROADS (THREE WEEKS LATER) -

Lannister soldiers were far chattier than any historical record made them out to be. In the Targaryen days, they were said to have been one of the greatest armed forces in history, and the best in the country at the time. Save, of course, the Royal army that had the small advantage of having dragons. And, one could hardly blame even the greatest military force from caving before dragons.

So far, Brienne wasn’t quite impressed. The men made crude jokes, hollered after her with drunken insults, and talked the ear off of anyone who would listen about their lives in the military.

So, it should have been easy enough to persuade one of them to tell them what was going on. It wasn’t. Most of them were too drunk to be coherent, or appropriate. The ones who weren’t must have been asleep.

Jaime told anyone and everyone who asked that they were siblings, fleeing the famine in the Free Cities and that they were ill acquainted with the affairs of Westeros.

“That’s a dumb thing to tell him,” Brienne remarked after the first solider, a brutish man, taller even than she was, had tried propositioning them both, and they gained no information after Jaime rejected him.

“ _No,_ is a dumb thing to tell him?”

Brienne scowled. “Of course not that, the not knowing anything about what’s going on bit, honestly, it’s like you want someone to murder you.”

Jaime shrugged. “Wouldn’t be as bad as having you harp on me while we’re literally time traveling.”

“You would prefer death to spending more time with me?”

“Occasionally, the thought crosses my mind. Where to next, Brain?”

“ _Brain?”_

Jaime grinned, gleeful at his own joke. _“_ It’s funny because it sounds like Brienne, right? Brienne the Brain?”

Brienne rolled her eyes and turned to another group of soldiers. “Excuse me, have you heard any of our story? We so desperately want to know what’s going on, you see— we’ve only just arrived from the Free Cities and rode hard to get here.”

The soldiers looked her up and down and turned away.

“We’re at the Crossroads Inn, came here after the Rock was destroyed.” A woman, seated alone at the table behind them, spoke. “Are you hungry?”

She wore an extravagant red dress that looked so out of place in the dull, dirty inn, that Brienne couldn’t imagine how she hadn’t seen her when they walked in, or on any of their turns of the room. Her hair was as red as her dress but too deep in color to look truly natural— not at all like Sansa’s.

“No, thank you.” Jaime’s voice sounded strangled like he sounded when he was afraid. Though Brienne figured he probably just found her attractive— she was the sort of astoundingly beautiful that made Brienne want to dissolve into the floor so she couldn’t be compared.

It wasn’t a particularly healthy thing to think, but she couldn’t stop the thought from crossing her mind.

“You must have had a long journey, I should like to hear about it.” The woman continued. “Are you sure you can’t be persuaded?”

It struck Brienne how strange a thing it was to say. In their time, it was uncommon enough for someone to approach you in public with such questions.

Jaime began to shake his head, but she caught his arm, stopping him from refusing her on instinct.

“All right.”

Jaime glared at her and Brienne pushed him towards the table and pulled out a chair for him to sit in. The Red Woman looked amused.

“Forgive my brother, we’ve had a long journey and things were hard before it. We would appreciate any news you have of ongoings in Westeros, we’ve been dead to the world since leaving Lorath.”

The Red Woman continued to smile at them, oddly and a touch too long for it to be comfortable. “Well, I suspect you know of the war, rebels from the North, the Stormlands, and the Riverlands have risen against King Aerys.”

Brienne saw Jaime flinch out of the corner of his eye. Of course, the Aerys this woman spoke of was not the one they knew best— simply his namesake, still, she imagined it was something of a sore subject.

“News had reached Lorath of that, yes,” Brienne confirmed, not allowing Jaime a word in the conversation.

“There’s fighting everywhere north of King’s Landing, Gulltown, some time ago, Ashford, the Trident, Mander, and most recently, Lannisport. It was uncertain whether the Lannisters would side with us in the war until the sack happened. The King thought he would destroy them, though it seems he’s failed in that respect.”

“You speak as if you aren’t a Lannister, how did you come to follow the camp?” Brienne asked; she was not in need of the summary of the battles— acquainted as she was with _when_ they were.

“I was summoned here by her grace, Queen Joanna herself. Though I’ve been with the Baratheon’s at Storm’s End for some time, she and her lord husband are in need of the Lord of Light’s help.”

Brienne frowned, under the impression that the Lannisters had worshipped the New Gods for hundreds of years, and that disciples of R’hllor were relegated to Essos. Even presently, no one looked favorably upon the religion in Westeros— though it didn’t seem diplomatic to express to the woman.

“Where are the Lannisters going now?” Brienne wondered aloud, knowing well enough that they would end up in King’s Landing— and shortly after this time. The capital had been sacked only four months after Casterly Rock.

“To King’s Landing,” the Red Priestess replied, predictably. “The other rebel armies plan to sack the city any day now. Given their losses in Lannisport, no one is waiting on the Lannister army, but his Grace will be there for the negotiations when Aerys is defeated.”

“So, it’s certain then? The rebels will win in the capital?” Jaime asked, speaking for the first time since they’d sat down.

The Red Priestess raised her hands in a gesture of ignorance. “I am only a priestess, I can’t pretend to know for certain what’s to become of the rebellion. It is only what they are saying.”

Brienne nodded. “Thank you, this has been most helpful. We came to Westeros for its safety, though, I begin to wonder, should we not get back on the ship.”

The woman laughed at that. “It’s a strange place, no doubt, though I expect you’ll find what you need here. How did you come to leave Lys?”

Brienne hesitated a moment, trying to piece together anything half-way plausible. “The famine, it killed much of our family, we had no choice but to make our escape. We might’ve ended up anywhere, stowing away on a ship like that, but we were fortunate it brought us somewhere with a good harvest.”

“Clever girl.” The Priestess said. “Though, I am sorry to hear the misfortunes that have befallen your family.”

Jaime narrowed his eyes, and before Brienne could respond, blurted; “What’s your name again?”

“Melisandre, of Asshai.”

The name sounded oddly familiar to Brienne, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. Jaime, on the other hand, looked positively stricken with terror at the admission and he started in his seat.

Before, he seemed to realize that he was being suspicious, and settled slightly back down. “Good to meet you,” He managed weakly. “I find myself weary after a day’s travel, sister, let us turn in.”

Brienne could hardly spin his saying such a thing, and she found herself desperate to know what exactly had shocked Jaime so badly. So, she cast a smile and a few words of thanks over her shoulder as Jaime pulled her away by the hand, strong enough to do so, even as he limped along.

“Jaime Lannister,” Melisandre called, having given them only enough time to move two tables away. Blessedly, the room was loud enough that it was almost difficult to hear at their distance, nonetheless, Brienne’s blood turned to ice in her veins, freezing all her limbs where they were.

Jaime’s grip on her hand tightened like a vice— painful, though she couldn’t feel it.

Neither turned, but the Priestess had their attention so she continued.

“It is and isn’t your time so you must proceed carefully here.”

THE PRESENT - CASTERLY ROCK

Brienne dreamed.

_She was reclining on a couch, somewhere that didn’t look so different from New Casterly Rock, though the view out of the window was nothing like the Westerlands she had come to know. There were rolling, grassy hills, with rocky outcroppings and no sea to speak of._

_Brienne wore a skirt; heavy grey fabric with intricate layers of underskirts she could feel against her legs, over her stockings. On top, she wore a blue blouse, stained with brown smears on her left shoulder. Her hair was pulled into a braid and piled on top of her head in a way that pulled and pinched at her scalp._

_A book lay on her stomach, covering one of her hands, having fallen in such a way whenever she dozed off. And she was beginning to wonder what had awoken her._

_She didn’t wonder long before the door to the sitting room where she was banged open and a child barreled inside, pouncing on her in a mess of fine cloth, sharp joints, and golden curls. Instinctively, she set the book aside and moved to shift the child to a more comfortable position on her lap._

“ _GALLADON!” The shriek briefly preceded a septa’s entrance into the room, hurried, fuming, and apologetic. “My lady, I’m sorry to disturb you. Galladon, come here, what did we agree?”_

_The boy, Galladon, pouted at the septa. “I don’t want to finish my lessons. I want mother.”_

_“And your mother needs her rest. Gods, if only your grandfather and father hadn’t left, what I would tell them—“_

_Brienne held up the hand not holding Galladon steady on her lap. “I can help him with his lessons, Septa.”_

_“My lady, the maester—“_

_“Dismissed, thank you.”_

“Tarth, wake up, gods damn it.”

Brienne peeled her eyes open, feeling prodding fingers on her shoulder. A quick glance to her left showed her Jaime, reaching his arm across the expansive bed to jab her with his good hand.

“What?” She glanced at the clock, noting it was early— much earlier than she usually got up to help him.

“Sansa and Tyrion are here.”

Brienne glanced around, annoyed enough at being awake to try and irritate him. “Weird, I don’t see anyone.”

“Oh fuck off. They’re in the sitting room waiting, apparently, they decided coming in might be too traumatizing.”

Brienne frowned. “Why? They see you every day anyways, they can’t avoid it completely.”

Jaime opened his mouth to retort, and then laughed, genuinely amused, which was even more annoying. “Very funny, Brienne. I see you’re not a morning person.”

Brienne rolled her eyes but didn’t waste another minute in rolling out of bed. She wasn’t sure when during the night she had kicked off her shoes, but they were lying on the floor, right beside the bed. She toed them on and started towards the bathroom, already trying to detangle her hair with her fingers.

“I’m taking a spare toothbrush!” She announced, not giving Jaime a moment to respond before she slammed the bathroom door.

She looked ridiculous; her hair was long enough that it shouldn’t stand up at odd angles after she slept, it had grown out past her shoulders in the past year but that didn’t seem to help it. And she had lines on her face and neck from lying at such an odd angle in the bed.

For a long moment, she stared in the mirror and thought about the dream she vividly remembered. Or at least the one scene she did. If there was any context for it, and she almost felt as though there were, it was lost on her brain now that she was conscious. Though, it was undeniably strange. The only dreams that had ever felt real to her were the night terrors. Any other odd dream she had now and then felt too strange, and surreal to be anything but a dream. This one left her feeling slightly unsettled in the waking world.

Brienne ended up borrowing a hairbrush and facewash in addition to the toothbrush in an attempt to fix how wild she looked. She had only middling success with all of her efforts and left the bathroom feeling much more annoyed.

Jaime had managed to dress himself in her absence and was sitting in his chair, beside the bathroom door, awaiting his turn. He gave her a careful once-over, undoubtedly noting how rumpled her clothes looked after wearing them for so long.

So, rather than endure it, she gripped the handles of his chair and pushed him into the bathroom to get him to look away.

“You’re much more cheerful when you sleep in your own bed, you know.” Jaime said— through the door, she could see him putting toothpaste on his toothbrush.

“I just had a weird dream, leave me alone.”

“About Tarth?” Jaime’s words were spoken clumsily, around his toothbrush.

Brienne turned back to him, eyebrows arching in shock. “How do you know about that?”

“Podrick.” Jaime replied, quickly following with: “I’m sure he was just trying to help you.”, upon seeing her annoyance.

Brienne didn’t like the thought of him knowing anything about her dreams, and how crazy they made her. They were worse than her social awkwardness, worse than her appearance, worse than her obliviousness. And her knowing the worst part of him didn’t mean they had to acknowledge hers, particularly when it was so much worse anyways.

“I’m going to see what Sansa and Tyrion want, come out when you’re done and I’ll help you downstairs.” Brienne pivoted and strode out of his room, not waiting for him to continue the conversation.

In the sitting room, Sansa and Tyrion were sitting silent, staring at the door. Tyrion’s face cracked into an amused smile when she stepped into the room. Sansa’s remained tense and concerned.

“Lannister, I’m going to stop you right there.” Brienne started, knowing full well what Tyrion was thinking. Because it was what Tyrion was always thinking, as it would seem.

Tyrion deflated for a moment before regaining composure. “We’re leaving soon for Harrenhal, so perhaps you should go get packed—“

“Harrenhal? When was this decided on?”

“Last night, while you were canoodling with my brother.”

Brienne ignored the latter part of the sentence. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

Sansa gestured at Tyrion as though to say _I told you so._

“We already came here, is that not enough traveling? Perhaps we should finish the work here first—“

“I can’t.” Tyrion snapped. “I must go to Harrenhal, and you and Jaime must as well.”

“Are we certain it’s safe?”

Tyrion nodded hastily. “Would I ever put you in danger?”

“Constantly.” Sansa said flatly.”But I suppose it's all worth it if you get your answers.”

“We can’t bring Arya,” Brienne protested. “She won’t like that, and anyways, who will watch her if we all go?”

Arya was old enough— only five years Brienne’s junior, but, that still seemed quite young to be left to her own devices with the Lannisters.

Tyrion snorted. “I’m sure Arya will be all right. My father went out of town early this morning, and my sister,” he paused for a long moment as though bracing himself. “will be joining us on our trip, so there won’t be a single Lannister around to bother her.”

Sansa ignored the rest of the sentence, concern for her younger sister abandoned entirely with the new revelation. “Your sister is doing _what?”_

*

As much as Lannisport seemed to be a quiet city, the Lannisport train station was bustling, particularly so early in the morning with workers coming in from the countryside, running every which way to get where they needed to be. After packing in a flurry, they had made it into town for the end of the morning rush but for all his urgency in Jaime’s room, Tyrion was nowhere to be found.

Sansa and Podrick stood beside her, laden with their personal luggage as well as a case of books and documents they might have need of during their trip. And, while they waited, Sansa filled Podrick in on the previous nights’ events with Tywin and Cersei.

“And, she’ll be on this trip as well,” Sansa said fretfully, checking their immediate surroundings as though worried that Cersei herself would emerge from the crowd and incinerate her— likely with one of her patented furious stares.

“Is she stalking us?” Podrick grumbled. “Honestly, this is, what? The third time one of them as threatening Brie.”

Brienne laughed. “If you mean the Lannisters, Jaime threatens me at least that many times in one day.”

“He and Tyrion don’t really count. Jaime’s pretty cool.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes at him. “Podrick, have you forgotten?”

“I had lunch with him once, he was perfectly nice. He had a lot of questions about what we do in King’s Landing.”

As much as Brienne thought Sansa was a little too paranoid of Jaime, that was a little alarming.

“Probably spying for his sister.” Sansa guessed, darkly enough that for one rare moment, Brienne could see the resemblance between her and Arya.

Brienne bit her lip, wondering why her brain wanted to argue with the assertion. It wasn’t as though stopping one madman precluded Jaime from helping others, and it wasn’t as though Jaime didn’t do suspicious things often. She had to stop feeling defense— it was nonsensical.

“Probably.” She agreed, noting with displeasure that Sansa seemed surprised at her for it.

“They’re here,” Podrick muttered, grim-faced and worried. “They’re outnumbered by the people carrying their things.”

Brienne glanced over her shoulder and noted it wasn’t exactly true. There were three servants helping with suitcases, and one pushing Jaime’s chair.

“We should bring that guy, so he can help Jaime.” Brienne joked to a hum of agreement from Sansa.

“It does seem they had other options,” Sansa noted. “Unless those other options aren’t trustworthy.”

“I can’t believe Arya is missing this,” Podrick said. “All of us going in on a conspiracy theory.”

“This isn’t a conspiracy theory.” Sansa and Brienne said at once.

“It’s not that Arya is paranoid. But we don’t like to encourage her.” Sansa explained. “If you ever meet Bran you’ll understand, they let their imaginations run wild when it comes to these things. They always have.”

Podrick laughed, but it died quickly and he looked afraid again. “And you don’t think you’re letting paranoia get the better of you on this one?”

“Did you think we were joking?”

Brienne noticed as Podrick and Sansa argued over whether or not they had a real problem, that the Lannister siblings had avoided them completely, and slipped out of the terminal.

“I thought they were intense— not evil! Your family is intense too when it comes to loy—“

“Where’d they go?” Brienne asked, cutting Podrick off.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she spun around, Podrick and Sansa copying her a split second after.

One of the servants, a man with dark hair who was tall enough that the tip of his nose was in her eye-line— and thus towered over Podrick and Sansa, was standing behind her.

“If you’ll come with me, Mister Lannister has informed me that you will be joining him in his private cabin for the trip to Harrenhal.”

Brienne nodded frantically, she didn’t know what else to do. Somewhere behind her, Sansa was giving a more dignified response, somehow not surprised by the man’s sudden appearance behind them.

“A private cabin? Do you think it’s only for the Lannisters, or do they own a compartment on the train?” Podrick hissed, his head bent towards hers as they gathered up their bags and followed the servant.

“We had a private cabin on the way to Lannisport.”

“Only because no one else joined us.” Podrick pointed out. “I bet they own one on this line and Tyrion’s not even allowed to use it.”

Podrick was wrong. It was just an ordinary train compartment. The seats were clean, deep green velvet and the trim was dark wood— it was a nice train, picturesque like something from a book or a film. But, certainly not in the fashion of the Lannister family.

If they owned it, certainly there would have been a lion adorning something in the cabin.

Cersei had already assumed a place nearest the door, a bag set on the seat in a silent warning for anyone who tried to sit too close.

Jaime in the opposite corner, staring out of the window at the platform beyond. Tyrion stood opposite him, rifling through a bag of books and papers.

“There you are. Pod, come here and help me with this.”

Podrick crossed to him dutifully and sat in the middle of the bench Cersei was occupying the end of. “What are we looking for here?’

Cersei looked as though his presence in her general vicinity were highly objectionable. Brienne thought it best to avoid it altogether, considering the previous evening and placed herself between Jaime and Sansa on the left bench.

Jaime glanced over at her and grinned. “Excited to see a ghost town?”

Sansa leaned over, elbow resting on her knee, chin resting in her palm— clearly inserting herself into the conversation. “It’s not a ghost town.”

The story of Harrenhal was an unfortunate one— hundreds of years before, it had been a grand castle, transformed into a physics research center by its ruling family sometime after the Great War when many of the old families Westeros, having lost their ruling power, turned to other endeavors and abandoned their castles. The work done in the Harrenhal labs had been heralded as revolutionary and was often credited with the spread of electrical power and railroads across the land. But, during the early years of the Dornish War, the fighting in the city around the center had caused an explosion and the release of toxic materials. Anyone who had the resources to leave the place behind had.

It had been widely publicized to stay away from the place until Brienne was around eighteen, or nineteen. And, over the past four years, research efforts had been reopened there. Still, the story of what had happened and of the illnesses suffered by those who remained during the clean-up was enough to keep most people well away from it.

Jaime just rolled his eyes. “Ready to see the chemical wasteland turned economic dead zone, Stark?”

Sansa looked taken aback.

“What? I remember it happening, I was already thirteen.”

“Guess I didn’t peg you for someone who would care about it.”

Jaime’s expression darkened a bit and he turned back to the window, studying the exterior as though it were terribly fascinating — they hadn’t left the station. “I care a lot for matters relating to the Dornish War.”

The train started rolling out of the station, sparing Sansa a response as Tyrion started to speak— unnecessarily announcing their departure.

Brienne ignored him and tried to offer Jaime a reassuring look, though her upturned lips twitched anxiously and fashioned more of a grimace.

He returned the smile and seemed to understand what she was trying for. She ducked her head and stared out the window— keen not to share the look for any longer without talking. Already, she felt a blush creeping up her neck.

Beyond the window, the pillars holding up the train platform’s canopy raced by and gave way suddenly to the fine green wheatgrass of the seaside. A few hundred yards from the train was the seaside; waving green grass, white sands, and the vibrant blue sea broken up by white-capped waves.

“Remind you home?” Jaime asked, jabbing her in the ribs with his elbow.

Brienne chuckled. “King’s Landing or Winterfell?”

“Tarth,”

“I was too young when we fled to remember it,” Brienne replied stiffly. “And we weren’t able to prepare under ambush.”

_We fled by boat, the boat was destroyed and killed nearly everyone we had left, and that’s about where my childhood memories begin and end._ Brienne thought to herself, though she would never say it aloud.

“Have you ever thought to go back?” Jaime asked.

Brienne shook her head. “I don’t think my father would survive it.” _I don’t think I would either._ “He has dreams.” _I do too._

Jaime nodded and didn’t press the issue beyond saying that he knew what that felt like. The cabin lapsed into silence, the only talk coming from Tyrion and Podrick’s occasional mutters as they compared notes on whatever they were looking for.

Brienne tilted her head back against the headrest and watched Westerland slip by outside the window and the sun climb higher in the sky until she was no longer squinting into the late morning sun as it became an overhead midday-sun.

It was nearly three hours before anyone spoke again. Tyrion was absorbed in reading and Cersei had disappeared to ‘use the bathroom’ over an hour ago. Jaime had been asleep for much of the morning, oscillating between leaning on the window, and on Brienne. Though the last time she had gently pushed him back to the window had woken him and he was staring intently at the floor.

“Tyrion, where’s your sister?” Podrick asked, with a note of fear in his voice.

Tyrion didn’t seem to hear him, or if he did, he didn’t care to respond.

“Probably off planning your death, Payne,” Jaime said, his voice flat enough that he might not have been joking. His shoulder jostled hers as he leaned over to talk to Podrick. “Kidding.”

“At least we know she was serious at the bar,” Sansa muttered, quietly enough that she assumed no one would overhear. But Jaime turned sharply to her.

“What was that, Stark?”

“Your father and sister met us last night to talk about what we were doing here.”

Jaime looked at Brienne incredulously, which didn’t make a lot of sense as she vividly remembered telling him as much afterwards. “What did they say?”

Brienne frowned. “That we should keep you and Tyrion in line because they’d hate to put a stop to it. Jaime, I told you—“

She cut off not because of what he said but because of how the color drained from his face.

“ _What?”_ Sansa demanded, over her shoulder.

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?” Jaime snapped. Brienne felt her head recoil, her shoulder bumping into Sansa’s as she did.

“I did!”

Jaime’s frown deepened. “Not like _that._ Tyrion,”

His brother didn’t look up.

“ _Tyrion!”_

Still, he gave no response. Jaime took Brienne’s notebook from her lap and tossed it at his brother, startling him into looking up.

“What the fuck, Jaime?”

“A word,” Jaime demanded, struggling to his feet, gripping the luggage rack above their heads for support as he hobbled towards the door.

Tyrion got up and followed him out, tossing an apologetic look at them over his shoulder.

Podrick picked up Brienne’s notebook and handed it back to her, smoothing some of the pages that had gotten folded over when it fell to the floor.

Brienne took the notebook and flipped through it, running her fingers over the new creases in the paper and trying not to be worried about whatever had just happened. It didn’t seem worth discussing when none of them had answers and none of them wanted to be overheard discussing it.

In spite of the strangeness, at the very least she didn’t have to wonder if something was wrong. That fact could not be more obvious. Brienne could only marvel at how strange it was to be involved in something where she worried about being overheard and found herself wondering if she could take the Lannisters in some sort of fight.

Really, she thought this part of her life was behind her.

Not so long after that, green hills and woods bled into the rows of dreary, worn down houses and apartment buildings that made up the outskirts of Harrenhal. Moving closer to the center of town showed few improvements; they flew past empty storefronts, with smashed in windows and boarded-up doors. Only a few people walked the streets, ducking as quickly as they could into houses or the businesses that were open. All of them were wary-eyed and stared at the train as it passed by.

The old castle loomed high over the city, visible as they approached the train station. New, more modern buildings— the temporary sort that grew up out of construction zones were visible among the crumbling castle walls. A few of the old towers were still visible, shrouded in scaffolding. The castle looked to be the only place alive in all of Harrenhal; even at a distance, Brienne could make out bodies moving along the walls and in the windows of the temporary buildings.

Then, the train entered the station, brakes hissing and screeching as the train drew to a stop. The radio crackled and a cool female voice echoed over it, down the train.

“Harrenhal, get off here for Harrenhal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments/constructive criticism are always appreciated-- I hope you enjoyed!   
> -B


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the past, Brienne meets Jaime. In the present, Jaime attempts to start a fight.

144 AC - THE LANNISTER CAMP-

They travelled three days with the Lannister army through a miserable storm; rain and wind battered them throughout the day, never once letting up. The camp had plenty of horses and wagons to go around, the first day, they were fortunate enough to be in a covered wagon with some of the camp followers. This day, and the last, had been spent on horseback, quite unfortunate between their mutual lack of experience riding horses and Jaime’s injury worsened with the bouncing, uneven stride of his mount.

When they made camp on the third day, the rain had finally given way, but the fierce winds still drove through the camp even as the clouds parted over the camp and the setting sun emerged.

Brienne left Jaime in their tent— one they had stolen after one night with the Lannister army, sleeping out in cold. She was at her wit’s end with his bitching and moaning, in part because it worried her, in part because he was quite overdramatic.

Outside, soldiers battled the wind to construct the camp, twice, she was struck by the red canvas cloth of a runaway tent as she cut through the camp in search of a maester without truly knowing how to find one. She wasn’t sure if it would be unwise to ask, so she said nothing, growing more nervous by the minute as she made her second round of the camp.

Surely, one of the camp’s maesters would have something to spare for him. She was loath to ask, knowing it was risky enough to follow the camp among its followers, and even more so to speak directly to a member of the delegation.

To get what they needed; a tent, food, and clothing, Jaime had suggested acting as though they belonged with the camp and as though nothing were amiss. It had worked well enough in getting them the tent and cloaks to wear over their clothes, which helped them blend in. Speaking to a maester violated that strategy, _what if he noticed her odd words and accent? What if she was too clueless about old pain medicines?_

Certainly, she didn’t know enough.

But it had been _three_ days. They had barely spent hours in Casterly Rock the last time this had happened. And the days wore on still, they found nothing useful beyond their conversation with the priestess, Melisandre.

 _The Melisandre they had heard about in Harrenhal,_ it seemed, as Jaime had helpfully pointed out on their first night.

Brienne was itching to pass the information along to Tyrion. Though, now the feeling was getting overwhelmed by the feeling that they might never see Tyrion or any of the others again as the days ticked by. She missed Sansa, and Arya, and Podrick terribly, rarely going so many days without seeing them or being able to hear from them.

_Were days passing in their time?_

Not to mention, she was exhausted. At first, the cold had kept her from sleeping on their first two nights. Then, they’d stolen a bedroll for warmth but Jaime had chattered the night away.

Suffice to say, she was ill-prepared to speak to anyone about anything in such a state.

The walk across and around the camp was also the longest time she’d spent alone since arriving, Jaime a near constant presence at her side. Yet, she wasn’t savoring the solitude, in fact, she rather figured Jaime would be better than her at playing a part for the maester.

Brienne nearly turned back— and thought she would have, if Jaime hadn’t called out to her first.

“ _Brienne!”_

She glanced around, heart jumping for fear in her chest. He sounded improbably thunderstruck, as though beyond shocked to see her, _had he been asleep when she left?_ She hadn’t thought so but he hadn’t said anything, either.

She glimpsed him on her second scan of the camp, her hand raising to her mouth to conceal an involuntary laugh as she realized why she hadn’t recognized him on her first pass of her surroundings. She was shocked, alarmed even, though somehow in came out as amusement.

He was dressed fully in armor, shining golden-orange in the fading daylight, a crimson cloak streaming from his shoulders. He carried a sword on his hip and had done something to his hair that made him look different, somehow, more in line the how the other men in camp did theirs, perhaps.

And something must have been wrong, because he was _beaming_ at her, and hurrying over. _Some sort of strange cover,_ she figured, and returned his smile. When he reached her, she tried her best not to look apprehensive, or look around in terror for whatever he was trying to hide in plain sight from.

Jaime wrapped his arms around her so tightly that he lifted her clear off the ground— a feat given her height, not to mention his back.

Still, she made no mention of it, winding her arms around his neck instinctively and waited. For a long moment, he only pulled her closer, and closer until she had to bite back some protest about not being able to breathe.

And he pulled away, his hand going to her face. “You changed your hair,”

 _This is… weird,_ she thought inanely and narrowed her eyes, trying to piece together what response he wanted from that.

He didn’t give her a chance to respond before carrying on, sounding more urgent suddenly. “You’re not supposed to be here, how did you get here?”

Brienne frowned. “Jaime, wh—“

“Has something happened? Are you all right?”

Brienne nodded, looking at him searchingly, waiting for the signal in his eyes about what they were doing. But he kept them full of concern and affection that was surprisingly convincing— she made a mental note to tease him about pursuing a career in acting later.

His other hand tightened around her waist as his brow furrowed. “Where’s Galladon?”

Brienne almost missed what his words because — his _other_ hand? Her stomach clenched in fear and she had to bite down on her lip to stop a gasp from escaping her. _How? What? Who? Galladon? My brother? Did he make that code for something and I can’t remember? It seems a bit cruel._

“H-he’s at home.” She managed, not knowing who or what he was talking about, but figuring it was a safe enough answer. _Should I tell him he’s confused? But he’s Jaime, he just has to be. And he knows my name._

She supposed she should count herself lucky that she hadn’t collapsed, or died from shock where she stood.

Not-Jaime’s eyes softened. “Ridiculous woman. You shouldn’t have come, but I’m glad to see you.”

 _It’s fine,_ she thought, _this is just some trick. Maybe I’ve fallen asleep._

Not-Jaime kissed her cheek. “Don’t look so worried, I’m not that cross with you. I’ve just left the most trying meeting with my father, the King. They’re all concerned about losing the kingdom if the Baratheons win.”

 _And rightly so,_ Brienne thought, still trying to find her words. Her brain was stuck between rationalizing why Jaime would have snuck into some war council, and trying to figure if there could truly be two of them.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? Are you certain nothing’s happened?”

Finally, she coughed a bit and began speaking, feeling like she was in a trance. Some sort of instinct kicked in while her brain seemed to stay stuck on repeating _‘what the hell’._

“I’m fine, Jaime, truly.”

He gave her a long look as though he didn’t quite believe it, but thankfully didn’t question her further.

“I have to go to King’s Landing—“

“What?” Brienne snapped, on the off chance that this was her Jaime, that was a preposterous plan.

He shook his head, as though understanding her horror and simultaneously seeming relieved, perhaps that she was talking. “Our ship leaves from Darry on the morrow.”

Brienne shivered involuntarily, unable to explain why the idea was so horrifying to her. It wasn’t as though she had any intention of marching into King’s Landing in the middle of the Great War.

Not-Jaime drew her close again, cradling her head with the hand that had held her face, her chin pressed awkwardly into her left arm, still draped over his shoulder. Thankfully, her brain remained firmly in its trance, keeping her from lashing out at him in fear.

“I missed you,” Not-Jaime said quietly, to which she could only hum in agreement, and move her hand over the back of his neck to confirm she’d heard him. “You must be exhausted, why don’t you go to my tent, I’ll get us something to eat and come find you?”

“All right,” Brienne tried not to make it sound like a question.

“I think we have a lot to catch up on,” Not-Jaime spoke as though he had something in mind that didn’t really involve talking, per se.

His tone turned her insides to ice, though she didn’t quite know why. It was all she could do to force a smile as she turned to go, extracting herself from him at long last.It was exceedingly difficult not to take off running as she waited for him to disappear through the tents in the direction of the center of camp.

But she forced herself to walk casually until he was out of sight to take off at a sprint back to the tent she had come from— any thoughts of seeing a maester completely forgotten.

She refused to let herself think about what it meant, to confuse herself before she confirmed that her Jaime was still in the tent. If he wasn’t, well, they had things to talk about, but at the very least, she wasn’t the one going insane.

Unfortunately for that last comforting notion, Jaime was sprawled on the floor of their tent, sound asleep, in the same clothes he’d been wearing when she left. His hair shorter and his hand still missing.

In spite of herself, Brienne screamed.

Jaime startled away, jerking upright and groaning in pain himself. “ _Seven hells, Tarth! What the f—_ I’m not dead yet! What are you—wait, why do you look like that?”

Brienne took a deep breath, trying to make swirling, dizzying thoughts into something coherent.

“Brienne, what happened?” Jaime demanded again, his voice going from suspicious to properly scared as he tried to stand with her.

“There’s another you, um, out there somewhere, he looks exactly like you but he has two hands, and he’s a knight, and—“

Jaime looked at her askance. “Did you fall asleep?”

“No!” Brienne snapped. “I swear to the gods, he’s real.”

“How do you _know?”_

“Well,” Brienne could feel herself flushing. “I talked to him.”

Jaime finally struggled to his feet and grabbed at her arms, looking at her affronted when she snatched them away from him.

“Well, you don’t have to be afraid of _me,_ I know you!”

Brienne narrowed her eyes. “Or did you do something?”

Jaime rubbed his hand over his forehead in frustration. “Obviously not, I can scarcely stand. You have got to stop letting Sansa get to your head. I’m not trying anything.”

Brienne crossed her arms, still not offering one to him and waited for him to continue.

Jaime gave a long suffering sigh. “All right, start over, there’s ‘another’ me?”

There was certainly no way he would believe her from the explanation. Nearly without thinking, her hand closed over his wrist and pulled him from the tent. She proceeded through the rows of tents separating their’s from the army commanders— he complained at first, but fell silent after a few paces when people began to stare at his carrying on.

And Brienne spotted him again, leaving the kitchens area, radiant in red and gold even in only firelight. She ducked behind a tent, dragging the other Jaime with her with more force than she probably needed.

“There he is!”

Jaime peered around the edge of the tent they crouched behind, observing silently for a moment before he turned to her with wild-looking eyes.

“What the fuck?”

“You don’t think our past selves from Harrenhal are here, do you?”

“That hadn’t even crossed my mind, gods, Brienne, _why would you say that?_ ”

“It’s the reasonable explanation, for why you’re identical, and why he knew me. That we, left ourselves behind somehow?”

“He knew—“

Brienne shushed him. The other Jaime ducked into a tent three down from where they were hidden, and Jaime fell silent, watching with the same interest.

Moments later, he emerged, speaking urgently to a younger man sitting outside the next tent over. “Peck, have you seen Lady Brienne?”

Jaime turned to her. “ _Did he just—“_

Brienne hummed an affirmation.

“ _Lady_ Brienne?”

“That’s what they called women, can you shut up?”

The squire was talking, clearly denying having seen her at all. “Ser, why would she even be here? I thought she was staying on at Acorn Hall with your lady mother. Has something happened?”

The other Jaime was speaking again, too quietly for her to make out now as he turned away from him.

Her Jaime kept trying to say something and failing to form the words. “I don’t understand this, I don’t understand. There’s another Brienne, too? Is there another Tyrion? Or Cersei?”

“I don’t know, but I think it’s pretty safe to say there some credence to the magic theory about what’s behind all this.”

Other-Jaime was seated beside the man, Peck, with his head buried in his hands.

“You’re not going crazy, ser. The war has been hard on all of us, it must be hard to be away when Lady Brienne has been unwell. And Galladon is still so young.”

“All right, who the fuck—“ Jaime started, his voice a bit higher than a whisper.

“It was my brother’s name.” Brienne cut him off. “Though, given the timing, I’m sure they’re talking about something else, maybe his child.”

She cursed internally, having missed whatever other-Jaime said next.

“You should rest, Ser Jaime. We have another long ride to Darry come the morning. Perhaps you could write to Lady Brienne before you leave, I’m sure it would cheer her to hear from you.”

Other-Jaime looked so sad that for a fleeting moment Brienne had to quell the urge to walk over to them just to make the miserable look disappear from his face. Never mind that it was a truly terrible idea.

Instead, she watched other-Jaime agree in defeat and return to an empty tent and then watched her Jaime turn to her with a thunderstruck expression.

“Seven hells, we have so much to tell Tyrion.” He said simply. “Also, I hope you’re all right to carry me back to our tent because I don’t think I can move.”

Back in their tent, she tried to convince Jaime that they had to leave, and not risk his being seen a moment longer. It had been the only clear solution plaguing her since she first realized there was something terribly amiss. Though, Jaime refused, vehemently, mostly on the grounds that he thought they would die if they didn’t get any sleep for the fourth night in a row.

Which, was a good enough reason for her. She would try again in the morning, and it wasn’t as though they were out in the open.

Brienne was bone tired, drained of any energy she’d had stored by… whatever had just happened. So, she settled on the bedroll, the only one they’d managed to steal, and were struggling to share.

Brienne tucked the blankets around her, turning her back to Jaime as he turned his to her, her eyes growing heavy almost immediately.

“I think the other Jaime is married to the other Brienne.” She muttered, not really sure why she said it.

Jaime shook with laughter. “You think? What gave it away?”

“He kissed me.”

Jaime hit her with his right elbow. “He _what_? Why didn’t you lead with that?”

“Only on the cheek! And you know why I didn’t,”

He was laughing so hard that she wasn’t sure he even heard her. Which might have hurt, if the utter ridiculousness of it all wasn’t also painfully, _hilariously_ clear to her as well. And somehow, she was able to laugh with him; something cracked within her and the laughter and lightness that seeped from the interstice chased away her confusion and fear.

Behind her Jaime turned over and tapped her on the shoulder. Brienne rolled onto her back and looked over at him.

“Brienne,” He said with mock-sincerity, barely making it through his next words without laughing. “Want to get married?”

“Oh, if I’m marrying one of you, I’m going to have to choose the one with the gold armor.” She retorted, unable to make it to the end of the sentence without laughing herself.

Fortunately, Jaime thought the response hilarious enough— both of them laughing for at least a minute more before they calmed down.

“For now, I’d take a decent night’s sleep, though.” She rolled onto her side, this time the one facing him and closed her eyes.

Jaime fell still and silent before her, and she fell asleep wondering, with incredulity, if she were a bit in love with her Jaime too.

THE PRESENT - HARRENHAL

The research facility at Harrenhal was beautiful. Inordinately so, compared to the rest of the city. The temporary buildings made for a strange look, amongst the castle walls but it was truly only on the outskirts, where the buildings were still under construction. The rest of the campus had been built up, using the crumbling castle walls as accents among polished wood and shining glass. In what used to be the central courtyard, a grand garden had been planted in the style of the old gardens of the Reach; flowers and trees planted in spiraling and circling patterns.

It was here that she and Jaime were left, quite unceremoniously as Tyrion, Podrick and Sansa had scurried off to a meeting they had nearly missed due to delays on the train. Brienne was more than a little miffed that Tyrion wouldn’t allow her to be part of the meeting as well— but he claimed he didn’t want anyone “too close” to the situation in such an important meeting.

Cersei was more miffed than either of them at being sent back to their lodgings. Cleverly, Tyrion had only applied for five passes into the research facility and told her that, because Jaime was his favorite sibling, he was the one that got to come along.

Podrick and Sansa had whispered something triumphant about her not being able to spy on them, earning a laugh from Tyrion and an odd glare from Jaime— who, Brienne noted, only seemed to appreciate Cersei being insulted when he was the one doing it.

Jaime had no qualms about being left out of the meeting. He chose a spot in the gardens, on the lawn andlevered himself to the ground. He lay back on the grass and shut his eyes. It had been a grey morning, but the sun came out with perfect timing if they were to be stuck outside for however long it was until Tyrion needed his guinea pigs.

Brienne rolled her eyes and dropped her bag next to him on the ground before sitting in his wheelchair, tilting her head back and staring at the white clouds above. Jaime made an offended sort of noise when she sat down, but didn’t reprimand her.

“Are you tired?” He asked, as though if she said yes, he would be quite surprised by the fact.

“A little,” She admitted. “I had strange dreams last night and it’s been a long trip here already.”

“I should tell my brother that we don’t want to do anything until tomorrow, and we can catch the later train home.”

Brienne didn’t respond for a long moment, torn between blurting out the question that had been paining her since the conversation on the train and saying some inane response so they wouldn’t fight.

“Why did you get so worked up on the train?” She tilted her head further back and screwed up her eyes, half-expecting him to start snapping at her.

Jaime just sighed. “It’s really better if you don’t know. Truly, it was about,” he paused for a moment, sounding more pained when he continued. “About the accident. And something my father said. I’m sorry if it scared your siblings.”

He might’ve been lying, she figured it was quite likely that he was, but it didn’t seem worth it to press him. Jaime had never once spoken about what had happened, and, having lived through Tyrion getting the news and shouting down doctors and family members over the phone— she hadn’t felt the need to ask him.

“Are you hungry?” Jaime went on, changing tact and tone with shocking ease. “Tyrion said there was a cafeteria inside the main building.”

“Which one’s that?”

Jaime gestured vaguely behind them to one of the buildings, Brienne noted only that for a main building, it was the least remarkable of all the buildings.

“I’ll take you”

Jaime groaned, and slumped _more_ onto the ground, as though to emphasize how little he wanted to move.

“You want me to go for you, don’t you?”

“Please? You can take Tyrion’s card to do it, I’m sure he’ll only mind a little bit.”

Brienne rose from her seat, taking her own bag instead of Tyrion’s. “What happened to all those servants you came to the train station with, I envy them if it’s cheaper to pay me than them to be here.”

Jaime shushed her. “It’s to keep our secrets, you know, the evil Lannisters, just like your siblings say.”

“Whatever you say, Jaime. I’ll be back in a bit.”

As it would happen, going to the cafeteria without him turned out to be a mistake. A rather big mistake at that. She got food easily enough even though she spent a bit too long agonizing over what kind of sandwich Jaime would want. The trouble began when she was walking out of the building, back towards where Jaime was sprawled on the grass.

 _From a distance_ , she thought, _he looks utterly ridiculous._

In her distracted amusement, she hit someone with the door and turned to apologize.

“Brienne Tarth?”

Her eyes snapped back to the face of the stranger that she had only briefly looked at. Unfortunately, the man was no stranger— _Hyle,_ she thought, in annoyance, mostly because when they were “friends” and “dating”, he wouldn’t shut up about wanting to work at Harrenhal’s labs.

Also, because she had no interest in talking to him and she was feeling very cold all of the sudden.

 _Really,_ she thought, pushing aside the instinctive urge to make polite small talk, _there’s no reason for me to give him the time of day._

“Sorry, I’m in a rush.” She gestured vaguely beyond the door and took off walking more aggressively than she should have to conceal distress.

Unfortunately, he decided to turn around and follow her, calling out as he hurried. “What are you doing here? Last I heard you were still in King’s Landing.”

“Research. I really don’t have time to—“

“Brienne!” Jaime called out, propping himself up and waving her over. Very clearly betraying that she wasn’t hurrying off to an important meeting. So, Hyle kept on talking about something she didn’t care to hear, explaining his research, she guessed, but was too busy trying walk away to really listen.

“Who’s your friend?” Jaime asked, when she drew up beside him. He was trying to struggle to his feet and watching Hyle suspiciously as he drew closer.

Brienne pulled him to his feet. “Hyle, this is Jaime Lannister. Jaime, Hyle, he’s a friend from undergraduate.”

Jaime nodded, and took the takeaway box she offered him with the hand not supporting him. He didn’t seem to notice anything amiss until Hyle started laughing.

“It was a bit more than that, Tarth.”

Jaime looked up, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide.

 _Don’t worry, Jaime,_ Brienne thought bitterly, _you were still right in your assumption that no one could be interested even if Hyle’s being an ass about it._

“Oh, yes, how could I forget?” She said instead. “Second year, Hyle and his friends had a bet to see who could be the first person to sleep with me. So, technically he’s my ex, though I found out about the whole thing before he could win.”

Hyle laughed. “We were dumb kids, Tarth, when are you going to let it go?”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “Hunt, I haven’t thought about you in years.”

 _Liar._ She thought. The bet crossed her mind far more often than she would care to admit and never got any less painful to think of. Her appearance wasn’t even the worst thing about her, that fact that it was all the bet had been based on was a quite unwelcome reminder of her utter undesirability.

Jaime was still frowning. “Why was that a bet? I don’t understand.”

With a much greater dawning horror, she realized Jaime was trying to pick a fight with him, feigning ignorance like he hadn’t been saying the same things for a month.

Hyle stammered something like “Well, because she’s— Brienne was— you know,”

Jaime raised one eyebrow at him. “Because she’s so stubborn? Verbally combative? Rigid?”

Hyle hesitated and Jaime looked triumphant. Brienne wanted to disappear, but settled for burying her face in her hands.

“That’s what I thought. Now, get lost, sorry what’s your name again?”

Unfortunately, Hyle didn’t listen, trying uselessly to backtrack and crack a joke. “She looks good _now._ You grew your hair out, I like it, makes you look more like a woman.”

So, Jaime hit him, and instantly fell back on the grass with a pained gasp.

Hyle swore and lifted a hand to his assaulted cheekbone, but appeared relatively unmoved, opening his mouth to snap something at Brienne.

“Just go, Hyle.” Brienne waved him away, and knelt beside Jaime, not really paying attention to if, or when Hyle wandered off. “You _idiot.”_

Jaime tried to prop himself up and failed, groaning again. She straightened him out and pulled him up with an arm around his shoulders. When he finally could, he turned to her with a cautious sort of grin.

“My taste of knighthood has inspired me to be more chivalrous.” He boasted. “You okay?”

“Fine.” She lied, her voice too sharp and biting for someone who just tried to do her a favor. But, she didn’t quite feel fine, stuck somewhere between mortification and agony. Mostly she just felt like one or both of them had pulled away whatever was stopping all those past aches that she put away, leavinga weeping emotional wound.

“You dropped your sandwich.” She continued, returning the takeaway box to his lap once he was propped back against his wheelchair.

Jaime looked desperately uncomfortable for a moment before blurting. “I should never have said all those things about you, you know, before the truce. I was miserable and—“

“It’s fine, Jaime.” Which wasn’t a lie, she knew well enough why he’d been such ass, and can’t honestly have said whether or not she would have felt differently in his shoes. “You didn’t know.”

Jaime scoffed. “I’m trying to comfort you, would you just stop that?”

“You stop! I don’t need it, don’t _feel bad_ for me.”

Jaime was silent for a long time, and she was beginning to think he’d given up.

“It’s not true, what I said, or what I expect Hyle and his friend’s said, if it helps. You have extraordinary eyes.”

Brienne’s heart clenched and sped up, and for once that wasn’t an entirely terrible feeling. She smiled at him.

“Your punch needs work, but thanks for trying,”

*

The rest of the afternoon was spent being poked and prodded and scanned without any real explanation as to what Tyrion’s scientist friend was looking for. To make matters worse, the scientist, who Tyrion had introduced as Doctor Varys, never gave any indication if his findings were good or bad, or even notable at all.

Brienne’s confidence in Tyrion’s judgment that, if anyone knows what’s behind this, it would be Varys, was waning and quite quickly at that. And Sansa wouldn’t say a word of what had happened at the meeting between Varys and Tyrion.

The most talking anyone had done in all four hours was to scold Jaime for trying to fight Hyle and the alarming revelation that he could have seriously damaged his chances of walking again if he was hurt.

Sansa, of course, had been more angry that Hyle even dared to show his face in the first place and attempted to threaten an end to what Jaime had started. Only, she wasn’t the most intimidating Stark by a long shot, and it prompted laughter from everyone but Brienne.

Sansa had done well enough against Hyle and the others the last time she fought them.

Then, uncomfortable silence had fallen over the room and Varys had gotten to work. Words were only exchanged to instruct the lab technicians, who Varys referred to as the “birds” for reasons that were quite unclear, in conducting the tests he wanted done.

She endured them because she wanted an answer. And quickly lost patience when none were forthcoming.

Finally, at long last, after near a quarter hour spent standing still yet another machine or another, dressed only in a light shift, Varys admitted there was nothing more he could look into, with an apologetic look at Sansa.

“There’s nothing?” Sansa demanded. “There’s nothing to be done?”

Varys shrugged. “Miss Stark, your sister is very healthy, nothing beyond the realm of what’s to be expect was detected.”

“So you don’t believe them?” Tyrion snapped. “Honestly, why would you even waste my time—“

“No, I believe them. I just don’t believe it’s _hurting_ them or being caused by them. I also doubt its something they’ll be able to control.”

Brienne shivered involuntarily at that notion, Sansa passed her a blanket which she wrapped gratefully around her shoulders.

“So, it could happen anywhere?” Jaime asked. “Even if we aren’t together?”

Varys shrugged again, looking at Tyrion helplessly. “Listen, _perhaps_ it was some freak hallucination. Most likely, there’s something in the castle causing it,”

“Like a machine?” Podrick piped up, finally setting aside the pen he’d been writing frantically with.

“Now, I’ve heard nothing of such a similar successful machine, but it’s the most likely. I’ve only heard of one thing that would cause this, but it’s a bit far-fetched.”

“Well, what is it?” Jaime asked, settling back on the medical table.

“I had heard of a spell done to change the past.”

Sansa let out a peel of laughter. “Like magic? Tyrion who is this—“

Tyrion frowned and held a hand up to silence Sansa. “You have? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Varys’s own frown deepened. “It’s quite a big secret, Mister Lannister. I’m surprised your brother hasn’t already put two and two together, though.”

Four pairs of eyes swiveled to Jaime who gestured helplessly. “Don’t you think I would have said if I knew something?”

Brienne turned to him, lowering her voice to ask. “Why would he think—“

Jaime just shook his head, wearing an confused expression she was sure matched hers. “Truly, I have no idea.”

Varys sighed emphatically, clearly bothered by how difficult a time they were having understanding him.

“A spell was cast, famously by Melisandre of Asshai after the end of the Great War to try and prevent it from happening, or so the story goes. And it failed spectacularly.”

Tyrion coughed. “Why? Why would she do that?”

Varys gave him a long look, his eyes flickering a few times to Jaime, and twice over Sansa and Brienne, Sansa clinging to Brienne’s arm.

“I don’t know for certain, perhaps to prevent the war? Perhaps the Targaryen survivors wished to undo the damage done by Aerys, or to their families.”

Tyrion hummed in agreement. “It doesn’t seem they succeeded.”

Varys nodded his agreement. “Whatever the case, you’re right. It wouldn’t make any sense for it to happen to your brother and this girl. I’d go with my first hypothesis if I were you.”

Brienne was a bit offended that she had endured more tests than Jaime and still he couldn’t remember her name.

“Perhaps I can come out to Casterly Rock in a few weeks and look around for myself. If its something, well, not magical, as I suspect, it would show up on our things.”

“Wonderful, we’re still looking into this.” Sansa said coldly. “Tyrion, can we please drop it?”

Tyrion shook his head. “You’re always welcome in Lannisport if you’re brave enough to come, Varys.”

Varys nodded and gestured in dismissal at Brienne and Jaime before walking out of the room without another word.

“Tyrion, _why?”_ Sansa snapped. “Brienne and I have other work we need to be doing, we’re barely even looking into history anymore and we don’t know when Varys will come. This is stupid.”

As much as she wanted answers, Brienne had to agree. If the most advanced center for scientific research didn’t have answers for them, was it not better to stay away from it entirely?

Tyrion only continued to shake his head. “In the meeting before you and Jaime showed up, Varys seemed to think it was very possible that this is all real. What was it that he said, even if nothing happened to them physically, their interview responses were still—“

“In line with the theory, yes, I know.”

“And that the fact that it happens to only them without physical indicators or consequences is part of the puzzle.” Tyrion continued.

“This is sounding more and more like some spell.” Brienne snapped. “And magic has been lost since long, long before the Great War.”

“Really?” Jaime piped up, Podrick nodding along, as though this was news to both of them.

“Well, sure, there are conspiracists who will tell you there are dragons beyond the Wall, and magic in the Free Cities. But there’s barely any basis for it.” Brienne explained. “You can’t believe it just because someone wrote it in a letter to the editor.”

“You don’t believe in it?” Podrick asked, sounding rather disappointed.

“It’s a thing of the past, without clear record as to how to harness it again and not enough momentum to warrant research, sure, it might have been real, but it can’t touch us.” Sansa answered for her. “I would know.”

That much was true. Winterfell’s old libraries had the most records about old magic from seemingly before humans even came to Westeros. But everyone who came through either decried it as some sort of farce, or complained that it wasn’t instructive enough. Catelyn complained every so often about having to deal with another strange academic who was angry with her over the library’s contents— as though it was under her control.

Brienne collected her clothes from the bench, holding them against her chest. “So, what are we operating under, someone cast a spell on Jaime and I, or, that there’s some sort of machine at Casterly Rock?”

Tyrion gave her a long look. “Obviously the machine thing, we have to trust Varys. Is that a real question, Tarth?”

“Yes, why in seven hells should we trust him?”

Tyrion shrugged. “He’s not led me astray before. Now, what do you say we go get something to eat, and make a plan to return to the ruins?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments & constructive criticism are always appreciated! You can also find me on Tumblr at @brienneetarth :)  
> -B


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the past, Brienne and Jaime run into more Lannisters. In the present, the team return to the ruins of old Casterly Rock.

144 AC - Harrenhal

A sennight passed, and the Lannister Camp was in Harrenhal. The whispers around camp at first had it that King’s Landing would fall any day now. On the fifth day of the journey, the whispers were confirmed. The rebels had killed the Targaryen King, and the eldest Baratheon son would take his throne in the Crownlands, as well as the thrones of all the kingdoms that had helped or hindered him.

As far as she could tell, other-Jaime had moved on to Darry, King’s Landing or wherever else he might have gone. He could not longer recognize her, or perhaps, his doppelgänger, that much, at least was reassuring. But she made Jaime keep his face well covered with the hood of his cloak.

No one else tried to talk to them, and she didn’t try to talk to anyone, even though she could tell Jaime needed a maester’s help. He insisted he didn’t need it, and it wasn’t worth the risk of being found out. Still, if they stayed here much longer, she feared that it would become unavoidable, based on the way that Jaime’s face twisted in pain if she so much as shifted on the bedroll.

The morning other-Jaime left, she had asked Jaime if they couldn’t go to Darry, find out more about what he wanted, and how he knew Brienne. It wasn’t as though they had any true reason for staying with the Lannister army beyond the fact that it was the first identifiable party they’d been able to find. But, Jaime wouldn’t hear of it, now she reckoned he was probably right in telling her that, though it didn’t stop her from being curious.

They stayed with the camp and stayed on course until they reached Harrenhal. They never separated for longer than it took to rinse off in one of the rivers the army stopped along or for Brienne to get food from the serving line. It was a difficult existence, and Brienne was relieved when Harrenhal’s imposing silhouette appeared on the horizon.

Harrenhal was a sight to see, larger than any castle left standing now and would have been an arresting even without its size. The stones that interlocked to make the walls were so dark they looked almost black, standing in stark contrast to the white, cloudy sky. There were too many towers and turrets visible over the walls to count, and guards lined almost every inch of the castle walls.

She wanted to continue to the castle, but Jaime needed time to rest, and with the sun hanging so low in the sky, she doubted it was a wise decision. Still, she felt somehow that Harrenhal was their last stop on this trip, perhaps it was just the hope playing with her thoughts.

Brienne constructed the tent a short distance from the wall, hoping its size might shield them from some of the wind and set out their bedroll. She had busied herself with drawing patterns on the dirt floor of their tent with her finger. Tired enough to sleep, but still too worried. As she waited, the sun set and she could scarcely see five feet in front of her, leaving the perimeter of the tent in shadow.

Jaime lay still as soon as his head hit the balled up cloak that served as a pillow. And stayed silent for so long she thought he must’ve fallen asleep.

Hours slipped away to her mindless fretting without sleep ever coming. Jaime woke again, muttering something to himself as he tried to look around the dark tent.

“Brienne,” Jaime murmured, softly enough that she nearly mistook it for sleep-talking. “What’re’you doing?”

“Thinking, heard of it?”

Jaime chuckled. “Barely.”

He was quiet for a while longer, but she could tell from his breathing that he wasn’t asleep. Somehow, the silence seemed more tense than usual, perhaps that part was just her own worry.

“Can I ask you something?”

Brienne hummed in acquiescence, trying to ignore the low thrum of anxiety that always shot through her at such questions.

“Do you think we have to die? To get out of here?”

The thought hadn’t really occurred to her, but as he said it was a simultaneously logical and chilling notion. That she had _died_ the last time and never thought it possible after she woke up. It would be an unparalleled risk to test the theory.

“I don’t know,” She confessed. “I hadn’t thought about it,”

Jaime sucked in a breath. “I just ruined the possibility of your sleeping tonight, didn’t I?”

Brienne slid down and over until she was on her side of the bedroll, and lifted the covers to tuck her legs underneath. “Maybe a little bit,”

Jaime reached out and brushed stray hairs from her face, carding his fingers through the strand before pulling away. “You can sleep. _I’m_ a knight in shining armor, remember? Nothing will touch you, Lady Brienne.”

Brienne stifled a yawn, somewhat ruining her retort of; “Call me that one more time and I swear I’ll strangle you.”

Still, she must have fallen asleep soon after that because the next thing she knew, Jaime was shaking her awake to an unpleasantly cool morning, and the noise of thousands of soldiers waking around them.

With the bustle of the day, soldiers and camp followers darting in every which way, it was easy enough to sneak inside the castle walls. Rain was come down at a steady drizzle, and outside the castle walls, it was blustery on top of the rain, so all the corridors were crowded with soldiers trying to take shelter from the misery of wet cloaks and boots.

Brienne wished she could wander the walls and corridors of the castle, but, they took to the library. Jaime had barely made the walk to the castle with his back, and certainly couldn’t be made to wander the grounds for the day.

They stayed well back away from the well-lit center of the room on one of the mezzanines lined with shelves of books. Three armchairs were set in a window alcove, _well-concealed if underlit,_ she thought. The alcove was nearly blocked off from rest of the room by the placement of a wide, layered bookshelf that slid away to reveal more shelving behind it.

Jaime was content with the spot, resting stretched between two armchairs while Brienne took the other, and read whatever books caught her eye.

She kept her eye out for anything that might belong in Winterfell’s magic archives in their time, to no avail. Though, she made it through three other assorted books before anything exciting happened.

“Have you really read all of those?” Jaime asked, astonished. She looked up, not having realized he was awake.

“I can’t think of anything more productive to do.” She shot back, closing the fourth book over her index finger, even though she’d just begun the third page.

Jaime put up his hands. “I meant no offense. Truly, I’m impressed, I’ve never been much of a reader.”

Brienne frowned. “That doesn’t sound better, Lannister.”

Jaime shook his head vehemently. “It’s difficult for me to read, the letters just,” He made an erratic, swirling movement with his hands. “My father _hated_ me for it. He never wanted there to be anything the matter with us, or at least, to know about it. Quite ironic really.”

Brienne sighed, it struck her again that nothing should be surprising about Tyrion or Jaime anymore from what she knew of their upbringing.

“There’s nothing wrong with Tyrion,” She spoke hotly before realizing that Jaime likely wouldn’t appreciate her arguing the point he was making. “Or you, for that matter, just because you look a bit different n—”

The door to the library slammed shut, and she heard what must have been a small crowd of people enter, accompanied by the creaking of armor and the low hum of voices.

Brienne shifted in her seat so that she could peer around the edge of the alcove’s curved walls and over the balcony to the room below. Four people, perhaps in their forties or fifties were gathered around the fireplace and beginning to take seats on the grand couches. All of them dressed in elegantly sewn and decorated clothing, the cloth more vibrantly colored than anything she’d seen since leaving their time.

And, she belatedly realized, a pair of them were flanked by Lannister guards and wore crowns upon their heads.

Her stomach flipped. “Jaime, come and see this.”

Jaime groaned but did as she requested, looking as surprised as she felt once she watched him piece it together.

“Queen Joanna, and King… Tywin,” Brienne struggled to recall the name for a moment. There were always too many names for her to keep properly straight.

Jaime rolled his eyes. “Gross. People think it’s so very romantic my parents were both named for them, but, no, also, there are at least ten Tywin’s in our history so—“

“Jaime, who cares?”

Jaime fell silent and the other man began to speak.

“Joanna, I’m glad you’ve come. I do hope your stay at Acorn Hall wasn’t too dreadful, we thought it the best place to hide you and that girl.”

“My gooddaughter?” Joanna retorted coldly. “Gods be good, Kevan, we have more important matters on hand than your _principles_.”

The King, Tywin, cleared his throat imperiously. “Please, both of you, let us focus on the matter at hand. I received word from Prince Tommen, my eldest—“

The other woman laughed loudly. “No need to introduce him every time we speak of him, Tywin. We’d not all forget our precious nephew.”

“Genna, let me finish or so help me—“

Brienne pressed a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing audibly. _For all that books and scholars want to make these people seem so serious— they truly have no idea._

Jaime, on the other hand, just looked disturbed. It wasn’t as though _King_ Tywin looked very much like his father, and, in the portrait she had seen of _his_ mother, the woman had hair nearly the color of Sansa’s. It was not, thankfully, anything like other-Jaime. Still, he was ill at ease.

The woman, Genna, held up her hand and waved it, gesturing for him to continue.

“He writes that the rebels from the Riverlands, Northern Territories, and Stormlands have taken the capital. And Lyonel Baratheon sits on the throne.”

Queen Joanna made a soft sound, silencing her husband before continuing. “Does he say anything of Jaime? Does he live?”

Jaime’s hand knocked against Brienne’s calf a few times, silently acknowledging the name. Brienne herself gripped the arm of her chair more tightly, trying to resist letting out a shocked gasp herself.

“He arrived the eve of the battle and was gone just as fast when the fighting was done, Tommen doesn’t know where he’s gone off to. Though,” Tywin said, with an odd heaviness to his voice as though his son’s continued existence were a great burden. “He lives yet.”

Beside her, Jaime sucked in a breath, and suddenly it seemed a bit too apt that they had discussed his own father’s disapproval minutes earlier. The fact made Brienne unduly suspicious, though, nearly every detail made her so now. Her free hand moved to Jaime’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort, though for which one of them, she couldn’t say.

“Thank the gods,” Joanna said, sounding truly grateful, before allowing her husband to carry on.

“Lyonel will take the Kingdoms belonging to the Targaryens as punishment, Dorne, and the Reach and the rest of the South absorbed under his rule. And, his allies will join him too, as their reward, with places of honor among the Kingdom. Not even the Greyjoys would be bold enough to pass up the offer it seems, and the most they did was lend three ships to the Starks’ army.”

“So, the Baratheons get us too, then?” Ser Kevan cut in bitterly. “And refusing would begin us another war we’d surely lose without the Rock.”

“You’d sacrifice our family, just like that?” Genna snapped. “Bend the knee to some _Stormlander?”_

“What choice do we have, Genna?” King Tywin thundered. “They have the Martells, the Tyrells, and the rest of the Northern armies. Our losses at the Rock were too extensive to hold them all back. We must, if only to buy ourselves time to rebuild.”

“Why should they make us? What can we xoffer to them that Lyonel would resist us not giving in? He’s a spineless—“

“Even the spineless know the value of our mines, _especially_ the spineless.” Kevan cut in.

“Perhaps there’s another way,” Joana began carefully. “There’s a woman from Storm’s End who visited me while I was at Acorn Hall, Melisandre of Asshai—“

Jaime jerked back so quickly, he sent the stack of books on the table spilling onto the floor with a loud crash.

“Who’s there?” King Tywin boomed out.

Brienne pulled Jaime back, dragging him upright beside her until they stood flush against the alcove wall. Her heart seemed to press painfully on the top of her chest as it danced frantically inside her chest and she refused to gasp air in to compensate, to keep silent. There were no exits in sight, save the window, and it was a long fall to a courtyard— hardly a good option.

“Ser Robert,” Tywin said, and the name was met with the shifting of armor. “Find out whatever that was, and kill it, would you?”

Ser Robert did as he was told. He found them, and an exit far easier than Brienne would’ve. Beyond the exit was a little hallway— the last she would see of Harrenhal, as he gave her barely a moment to think before plunging his sword into her chest.

Jaime screamed.

300 AC - THE PREVIOUS EVENING, HARRENHAL

“So, what did Sansa do to Hyle? I saw how she looked while Tyrion was scolding me.” Jaime asked, finally breaking the somewhat tense silence between them.

Brienne turned to him, hoping she didn’t look too surprised. She had been lost in her own concerns about the meeting with Varys, and moreover, seeing Hyle. She was too lost to have even tried the drink the bartender set in front of her, in favor of staring at the wall behind the bar.

Tyrion had told them to meet back down at the bar and restaurant area on the ground floor of the inn they were staying at. Though thus far, they were the only two that had made it back down and had been sitting there for some time already.

The room was dimly lit and uncomfortably small for a restaurant bustling with customers and waiters. Everything was made out of wood, but most of the light seemed to come from small candles set at the tables and along the bar.

Before responding, Brienne sipped her drink and grimaced— it was horrible.

But, at the memory of Sansas’s grand plan for revenge, she had to smile. “She had her girlfriend, well, ex-girlfriend now, Margaery, spread so many nasty rumors about them that it caused _multiple_ fights and several expulsions. Unfortunately, Hyle was not included, but Margaery did enough of a number on his social life that it still felt all right.”

Jaime laughed and shook his head. “Well, I’m glad for that. But, gods, I’m still sorry about it all.”

Brienne shrugged, because, honestly, she didn’t know. It was better, now that she was grown up, but their distaste was just quieter, she supposed, which sometimes made it even harder to tune out. Or at least to tune out the anxiety around it.

Brienne shrugged again, feeling the need to backpedal, _quickly._ She must seem quite pathetic for being so shaken by it nearly seven years on. “I had nearly forgotten it, honestly, before today. And, I’m certain I wasn’t always the most pleasant person to be around.”

Jaime looked dubious for a moment but dropped whatever he was going to say in favor of a joke. “Well, after this summer you can rest assured that you’ve met the _least_ pleasant person to be around if that’s any consolation.”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “Right, I can’t wait to be rid of you.”

Jaime gasped, joining her in whatever bit this was. “Well, _I_ was talking about my father, but tell me how you truly feel, Brienne.”

“Oh, my apologies.”

“And besides, you may not be so rid of me. Tyrion wants me to come to King’s Landing with him, apparently, everything in his house is at an appropriate wheelchair-height already.”

Brienne honestly had to admit it was a good idea of Tyrion’s and said as much. Though she wasn’t only thinking of how woefully inaccessible New Casterly Rock was, but of the derision his injuries brought him from Tywin and Cersei. She could easily imagine him feeling better away from it.

Before Jaime could respond, Tyrion and Cersei entered the bar, already having an argument, and Tyrion waved them over to join them at a table near the window. They joined them after exchanging twin expressions of annoyance at likely having to break up a fight.

Fortunately, Sansa and Podrick arrived and distracted Tyrion before he could pull her into whatever argument he and Cersei had been having.

And time passed peacefully enough, the three non-Lannisters acting as a barrier between the Lannister siblings until they were no longer inclined to bicker, or drunk enough that they didn’t want to.

Later, Sansa and Podrick were chattering away, Podrick asking a thousand questions about the Winterfell library, which apparently was news to him. And Tyrion was brooding, not even trying to look around for someone to spend the night flirting with— which happened nearly every time they went out.

Jaime was regaling his sister with the story of his confrontation with Hyle Hunt. Though Cersei seemed far from amused or impressed by the story, in fact, if Brienne wasn’t mistaken, she was trying to ignore him in favor of joining Podrick and Sansa’s conversation.

And Brienne, as usual, was content to watch, and sip at her drink.

Until, in some drunken mood, Tyrion elbowed her and got her to lean in closer to hear him. His eyes were quite red and bleary, and she realized she had forgotten to be bothered about keeping him from getting completely wasted.

“It occurs to me that I never thanked you, you’ve really done amazing work.”

Brienne nodded. “Better late than never.”

“After the accident he was... messed up,”

Brienne rather wanted to hit Tyrion, because of course he wasn’t talking about her schoolwork, or allowing him to do his interviews and his tests. Why on earth would he care about anything pertinent?

“So angry. So hopeless. He was unrecognizable, almost a completely different person. And, you know, I called and tried to help, I went to him, but nothing.”

Brienne just nodded. “There’s nothing like more trauma for getting over old problems.”

Tyrion shook his head. “It’s not only that. Sure, he’s back to his impulsive, impatient, and frankly impossible self. But he’s happier now too, he wasn’t even that before the accident, not since the trial, and long before it if I’m honest. But, I just knew you would be good for him, so I’m glad you came, and I’m glad to be proved right yet again.”

Brienne frowned, taking a hurried sip of her drink and trying to shove aside her concern at how odd a thing it was to say. “Happy to help, Lannister.”

“Hey! Hey!” Jaime called, his words slurring a little. He practically threw himself along the bench away from Cersei, leaning into her space, towards Tyrion. “What are you two whispering about?”

Brienne sighed and moved him off her. “You.”

“All terrible things, I expect.”

“Yeah, exactly. A regular Jaime Lannister hate-festival.” Brienne retorted. “ _No,_ not all bad things. Don’t ask for compliments.”

Jaime laid his head on her shoulder. “I was actually asking you to say bad things, do you even listen?”

Cersei scoffed, pushed her chair back, and turned to Tyrion. “I can’t watch this anymore, I’ll be ill.”

“See?” Jaime gestured to Cersei. “She understands the game, Brienne.”

Brienne pushed Jaime off of her and turned her face downwards like it might hide how badly she was flushing.

When she looked up, Cersei was gone, Jaime was talking animatedly to Podrick about the shape of the salt dispenser on the table, and Tyrion was watching her in amusement like he knew exactly what she had been doing.

When she returned the look with a glare, he sighed and caved and clapped his hands to get the attention of the others.

“Now that my menace of a sister has gone, let’s talk about the real things we must,” He tried to speak in some grandiose manner appropriate for a team leader but his words blended together and switched places so it was nearly nonsense. “Tomorrow, we get on the train to Lannisport, we go home for a bit, and head right back to the ruins!”

He delivered the order like he expected cheers at the end— which only Jaime supplied.

“We’ll re-run the test!”

Jaime whooped again, then asked what test Tyrion was talking about. Sansa and Podrick remained a steadfastly unamused as Brienne at the idea of going back.

300 AC - THE PRESENT, OLD CASTERLY ROCK

Her eyes flickered open and slammed shut again against sudden bright light that was too painful to look into. Somewhere to her left, she heard people talking, all their words jumbling together in her ears amounting to nonsense she couldn’t make out. Then someone was lifting her off the ground, an arm around her shoulders. When she opened her eyes again, she was met with only a curtain of red hair.

Which quickly pulled away to reveal Sansa, kneeling beside her and holding her up. She slumped forward in relief, her knees drawing to her chest to support her.

“Thank the gods you’re all right.” She began. “You’ve been out for hours.”

Brienne frowned, she knew time didn’t pass the same, but mere hours seemed wrong for all that had happened. “Hours? That’s… that’s good?”

“It’s good?” Sansa sounded uncertain.

“We were there for _days._ Longer than a week but…” She wasn’t sure the exact amount anymore and it was quickly becoming a secondary concern as the fog in her mind cleared away. “Jaime?”

“I’m back here. Gods, finally, my back doesn’t hurt.”

Brienne lurched away from Sansa impulsively to look at him properly. She could still hear him screaming at the knight. The one that killed her, and then him, she realized and shuddered as the reality of it struck her.

But, he was propped up on his elbows, wearing the clothes they’d left behind in the cellar in the Inn at the Crossroads to avoid detection, smiling in relief.

Sansa’s hand reappeared at her shoulder, hovering there nervously as though expecting Brienne to snap at her. To Sansa’s left, Podrick had risen to one knee, covered in the dust and grime that lay on the floor. He was alternating between watching her anxiously and digging through the bag he’d brought with them.

Arya was sitting beyond him, knees tucked to her chest and dark eyes huge with curiosity. “Days?” She demanded, when Brienne looked her way, not bothering to fret over her.

Brienne opened her mouth to confirm it, but Tyrion interrupted. She hadn’t seen him standing off to the right, notebook in hand, glaring at both of them.

“Neither of you say anything. Don’t talk to each other about what happened, don’t talk to us about what happened. I will hear your stories _separately_ and _alone._ We can’t risk you contaminating each other’s accounts.”

Jaime scoffed. “Tyrion, that’s a little dramatic, wouldn’t you say? I just need to—“

“No!” Tyrion said more firmly. “You’ll have the rest of your lives to talk about it if you so wish but gods help me, you’ll listen about this.”

Brienne leaned her forehead back on her knees and wished they would stop arguing.

“Please, Tyrion, let’s just go home. It’s getting a bit late to be out here all by ourselves.” Sansa pleaded, trying and failing to help Brienne to her feet.

Podrick passed Brienne a water bottle and watched expectantly as she took a few sips.

“You were laying there for three hours,” He explained and balked at Tyrion’s glare. “You probably need water.”

She thanked him and sent a glare in Tyrion’s direction for bullying the boy. “Oh relax, it makes no difference how long you’ve been waiting.”

“Can’t you stand?” Sansa asked, worry lacing her voice. “Tyrion, I told you this was too much, look at them!”

Brienne forced herself to stand, though her legs felt weak and she swayed where she stood. Sansa looped her arm around Brienne’s to support her, though Brienne highly doubted Sansa would be able to catch her if she keeled over again.

“Arya, could you help Jaime to his chair, please?” She directed, confused as to why he’d ever been moved to the floor in the first place. It was understandable to make her lay on the floor so she wouldn’t fall and hurt herself.

“Yeah, why am I even on the floor?” Jaime grumbled, wrapping his arms around Arya’s neck and allowing her to haul him to his feet.

Arya snickered. “You keeled over and almost fell to the floor about an hour in. It was pretty funny, actually.”

Jaime sneered, though not with any true cruelty. “Glad to be of such amusement to you, Stark.”

“Well, thank you.” Arya said. “I assume _I’m_ pushing you out of here? And possibly coming back with the chair for Brienne? Gods, Brienne, you look awful.”

Brienne decided she’d rather not know, whether she was dreadfully pale, or flushed, or if her eyes were too wide or weary, or what horrible twist there was to her mouth. Dust and dirt were caked in her ponytail and the flyaway hairs that escaped it.

“That’s not a very polite thing to say to a time-traveling adventurer, Stark.” Jaime responded coldly.

Arya sighed, nettled by Jaime’s mock-chivalry. “I _meant_ that she looks exhausted and sad. Though I can’t imagine I’d feel differently after spending days with only you for company.”

“I have to agree. She’s stronger than most,”

“She’s standing right here.” Sansa pointed out skeptically. “Could we put an end to the comedy routine and please get out of here? It would solve all of these problems.”

So they did as Sansa suggested.

The trip out of the belly of Casterly Rock was long and painful; physical wounds, including mortal injuries, didn’t seem to carry through time but the same could not be said for the bone-deep exhaustion of the entire ordeal. It had been late morning when they had arrived, but the sunny morning had given way to a stormy afternoon, forcing them to hurry through wind-battered rain to the car parked alongside the old service road that was near-dangerously flooded with rain water.

“Glad the book picked the one rain-proofed room left for this,” Podrick noted, as he collapsed Jaime’s chair and stuck it in the boot of the car.

“The book doesn’t pick the—“ Sansa began, impatient.

“We don’t know that!” Podrick cut in, throwing a hand into the air in exasperation.

Arya and Podrick ended up in the back-most seats of the car, facing out the rear window and curled awkwardly around Jaime’s chair. Sansa and Tyrion took the front, Sansa driving and Tyrion squabbling with her about how to navigate the flooding road.

It left Brienne on the middle bench with Jaime, wishing that she could lean over and ask him what had happened after she… died— _gods, she really wouldn’t be getting used to that any time soon._ But under Tyrion’s watchful glare, she didn’t dare, in the interest of not starting yet another argument.

Jaime had fewer qualms about spending the car ride home in a shouting match with his brother, it seemed. He slid across the bench, towards the center of the car, his hand covered hers where it lay on the seat between them. She turned and inclined her head towards him so he could speak in her ear,her concerns about Tyrion forgotten when he was looking at her with such urgency.

“Brienne, I’m—“

“ _Jaime! What did I say?”_

Brienne whipped her head around to face the front of the car.

“Shut up and let go of Tarth, or so help me, you’ll not have any hands left.”

*

Tyrion interviewed her first, for once letting her recount the whole thing, only cutting in when she told of the other-Jaime and Peck to express his own confusion. Otherwise, he nodded and hummed and scratched down notes in his book and let her speak. When she had finished describing the circumstances of their death and Jaime’s theory of how they had to die in the other world to get back, Tyrion only looked more troubled.

She expected a handful of questions that would stretch the discussion on for hours, or at least the proposition of a few theories. But Tyrion only clapped his notebook shut and made for the door.

“I have to talk to Jaime. And perhaps I ought to tell Varys to cancel his trip down.” He said in response to the exclamations of Pod and her siblings, who waited as anxiously as she did for his response. “We’ll get into this tomorrow.”

When he was gone, Brienne thought she might spend the rest of the evening worrying about his lack of response in addition to everything she had seen, but her siblings didn’t give her the chance.

Sansa forced her to shower, and set out clean clothes for her while she did. When Brienne was washed and dressed and feeling a bit calmer, Arya and Podrick made her have dinner with them while Sansa spoke to their parents on the phone to explain the trip to Harrenhal.

When dinner was finished and cleared away by the maid who had brought it up from the kitchens that Brienne had yet to see— she was shooed off to go to bed though the light had yet to fade from the sky and doused her room and the ocean below in pinkish-orange light.

Sansa and Podrick settled on either side of her and started talking quietly about all kinds of different things. Gossip about professors and other students at school, or memories of their childhood, as though it might calm her to sleep.

Brienne couldn’t snap at them for being as sweet as they were. But she wasn’t sleepy, and it wasn’t that she was afraid, or unnerved either. Mostly, she just felt _strange._

Her bed was leagues more comfortable than the bedroll she and Jaime had shared, but it felt strange to be comfortable. It felt strange to not lay, trying to sleep, and not feel afraid. It felt strange that Jaime wasn’t the person babbling at her while she was trying to sleep. It made her feel restless and as though she was missing something. _Wasn’t it strange how abnormal things destroyed normal things just by being?_

She was drawn back to the room by a small commotion in the sitting room, Arya saying something that was indiscernible, but distressed.

Sansa and Podrick were sitting up when her door swung open.

“Tarth, I hope you’ve not gone to sleep yet because my brother has finally given me permission to talk to you about it. Oh, Pod, Sansa, do I have the wrong room?”

“No,” Sansa said slowly, but she sounded unexpectedly diplomatic. “Could it wait?”

Brienne sat up. “No need. I’m not very tired right now anyways.”

Sansa nodded, casting her a long look that was calculating but not as concerned as it once was. Brienne half-expected her to insist on staying with them or saying something to Jaime but she only nodded.

“I’ll be in my room if you need anything else.” She said and squeezed Brienne’s shoulder. “Goodnight, Jaime. Pod, Pod, come on.”

Pod started and hurried after Sansa with a slightly more suspicious glance back at Jaime as he let the door close behind him.

Brienne slipped out from underneath her covers, sitting cross-legged near the top of the bed. “How did you even get all the way up here?”

“Tyrion,” Jaime said, with a little bitterness. “It took forever and he was not appropriate about it.”

He threw himself onto the bottom of the bed in a disjointed, ungainly movement and propped himself up on his elbows.

Once he began talking again, he seemed to be unable to stop. “I feel weird. Do you feel weird? It’s so peaceful here, which is weird because you’d think after a week in the Lannister camp I would have missed peace and quiet. Honestly, remember the night that our tent-neighbor was having sex?”

“Yes, it was horrifying.”

“Yeah, but this is more unnerving.”

Brienne certainly wouldn’t take it as far as Jaime, but for the most part, she had to agree. She told him as much, settling back on her pillows and staring at the canopy over her bed. She bent her knees a little so that Jaime wasn’t lying on her feet anymore.

“You were right, it seems, about us needing to die.”

Jaime laughed bitterly. “I wish I hadn’t been, I can’t do that again.”

“What? Die?” Brienne almost laughed. “You’ve died twice, a third time won’t kill you.”

After a moment’s hesitation and Jaime cocking an eyebrow, she rethought the wording. “It won’t really hurt you, you know what I meant.”

Jaime chuckled. “No, dying isn’t so bad, I don’t remember it, really. But I remember watching him kill you,” He shivered. “It was horrible.”

Brienne shifted to lie on her side facing him. Her hand went to his arm on instinct, in response to the horror that coursed through her. “Gods, I’m sorry I didn’t think about that,”

Jaime shook his head. “Do yourself a favor and look away if it’s the other way around,”

Brienne nodded, she’d only seen one person die— the soldier she killed, whose face and death she had pushed so far away, she’d nearly forgotten them. She doubted she’d so easily repress Jaime dying.

“I hope other-Jaime and Peck are doing well,” She said, trying to sound cheerful.

Jaime grimaced. “Brienne, I hate to tell you, but they’re long dead.”

“You know what I mean, though, I almost hope we see him again.” She admitted.

“Why do you want to know about him?” Jaime said, a sharp edge to his voice, as though he suspected her of something.

“Because it’s an anomaly,” Brienne responded, aware that her tone matched his in terseness. But honestly, she was _not_ the suspicious one between the two of them.

“It’s too dangerous,” Jaime said, the edge gone from his voice, replaced by a monotone as easily as his cheerfulness had turned to bitterness.

Brienne didn’t have an answer for that; he was right, at least about that.

“Sorry, I, it’s been a long day.”

“A long two weeks.” Brienne corrected, tentative to allow her irritation to seep out of her at the apology, but letting it happen anyways.

His hand found hers, where it was still touching his upper arm, fingers curling around her but not twining with them. His eyes were pressed tightly shut, and his breathing was uneven, though the difference was subtle enough that she wondered if she weren’t staring rather hard at him to even notice it. So, she closed her eyes for a moment and instead thought of the other Brienne— did other-Jaime hold her hand when they slept? Or perhaps, he insisted on holding her closer, in a tangle of arms and legs. Did she also feel like her intestines were twisting around each other when he touched her?

Jaime shifted next to her, rolling onto his side to face her, forcing her hand to pull back. “What are you thinking about?”

Brienne opened her eyes, searching and failing to find a place to look that wasn’t directly into his eyes. “Nothing, really.”

Jaime nodded. “Getting tired?”

“A bit, do you need help back to your room?”

Jaime froze. “D-did, ah, did you want me to go? I thought—“

_Oh._ Brienne felt a twinge of pity for him, _he must be far more scared than he lets on. And he has no Sansa and Arya to stay and comfort him._

_“_ You can stay too, it’s not like it’s a big deal anymore.”

Jaime laughed though it sounded more hollow in his exhaustion. But, he managed to drag himself to the top of the mattress and she helped him tuck the blankets over his legs before slipping beneath the covers herself.

“Goodnight, Brienne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter-- which I abused the ASOIAF wiki heavily to write :) I'm so grateful for the response to the last chapter, everyone's reviews meant so much to me! I hope you enjoyed!  
> -B


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne finds out more about her past self. The Lannisters continue to have problems.

First, Brienne dreamed of Tarth. Furious flames moving up the hill and blowing down from Evenfall Hall, ablaze and unrecognizable. People screamed, a familiar sound to her dreams. And right before she woke, the rock of the boat where she was ceased a moment before the floor was blown out from beneath them. She expected to burn with it, as always, but instead, she ended up submerged and sinking in the icy water of Shipbreaker Bay.

She woke with a start, to a dark room lit only by a narrow moonbeam shining through one window and Jaime, on the next pillow over, snoring ever so slightly. Brienne drew the blankets closer around her, feeling like the chill of the water had followed her into consciousness.

The illuminated face of the clock on her nightstand told her it was a little after three in the morning. For a while, Brienne worried she wouldn’t be able to find sleep again after the nightmare. She alternated between staring into the darkness and at the back of her eyelids, always listening to the faraway sounds of the Sunset Sea battering the cliffs below. She never slept when she dreamed of Tarth, except for tonight because more dreams came visiting.

_She was staring out over green hills again, looking west judging by the sunlight fading over ridge she was pointed at. She was standing near a large window that started at her waist and stretched over her head, her fingers curled on the sill, and she leaned on her hands, feeling like she would fall without the support._

_Beyond the window, she saw the rest of the castle, smaller than many of the others she’d seen. It would not have been remarkable but for the fact that its walls were constructed of red-tinted wood rather than stones— only the wall that lay beyond the keep was made of grey stone._

_Brienne could think of only a few castles that used wood to build most of their keep, it wasn’t such a good idea when fire was relied upon for light and for heat— but it certainly was striking. If only she didn’t feel so wretched, she might have been compelled to explore beyond the window. Her stomach was churning, and there was a dull ache behind her eyes that wouldn’t ease even when she closed her eyes._

_Somewhere on the grounds, she could hear men shouting, their words indistinct at such a distance. She thought about looking around for a minute, but her eyes stayed firmly on the horizon. And stayed. And stayed. She began to grow impatient with herself, had she really so little energy?_

_The door to the room opened, and still, she couldn’t move, not until she was prompted by the slightly breathless;_ “ _Lady Lannister?”_

_Brienne glanced over her shoulder, thinking to tell the girl that she was mistaken, she noted mindlessly as she turned that her hair was very long falling well over her shoulders to what must have been the middle of her back. Seeing that it appeared to be a serving girl, she turned back to the window, her fingers tensing on the window sill._

_But, when she spoke, she said: “Yes?”_

_Brienne tried to correct herself but no words came out. For the first time, she realized that under her own thoughts, she felt recognition of the woman, a maid, standing in the doorway and at the title directed at her._

_“Riders are here, from King’s Landing—“_

_Brienne felt herself stiffen, inexplicable concern felt like it was pulling on strings at the center of her chest. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around herself. “Why have they come?”_

_“Lady Brienne, how long have you been standing there? You haven’t been sick again have you?”_

_And then Brienne understood— surely she would have gasped for shock if she could as the pieces clicked into place. It wasn’t a dream, at least not properly one._

_But Lady Brienne only said. “Never mind that. Who has come from King’s Landing and why?”_

_The maid frowned as though confused by the question. “As I said, Lady Brienne, your Lord husband has arrived to see you.”_

_Lady Brienne whirled around, her stomach heaved with how dizzy the movement made her, and then, she fainted._

_For too many long minutes, Brienne’s vision was dark too, she was completely dead to her previous surroundings, but not to her thoughts, panicked and seething with questions she didn’t have the answers to. Perhaps Jaime was seeing the same thing through other-Jaime, perhaps this was truly some terrible nightmare. She picked out such comforting thoughts knowing she couldn’t allow herself to succumb to complete panic._

_Finally, Lady Brienne woke on a sofa, and Jaime— other-Jaime?_ Ser Jaime, _Brienne quickly resolved to call him, was hovering over her. He wore traveling clothes, not armor, though they were very finely made. On his shoulders, he wore the vibrant red cloak, and even in the dim light of the fire and fading sun, his eyes and golden hair seemed radiant. He grinned widely when her eyes opened, and Lady Brienne’s overwhelming relief at it was palpable to Brienne wherever she was stuck. Their hands were intertwined and rested on the top of her stomach, where her ribs came together._

_“I didn’t flatten Alyse, did I? When I fell?”_

_Ser Jaime laughed, a touch of concern entering his expression as he lifted a hand to her face, brushing his thumb across her forehead. “You couldn’t hurt her more than any twig, you’ve gotten so thin,”_

_Lady Brienne grimaced, glancing downwards at herself. Brienne noticed that she didn’t look very different from herself, tall and ungainly in a black dress that did her figure no favors. Though, she was more gaunt, the contours of her breastbone and the bones of her hands noticeable under her skin. The dress hung a bit loose, even lying down._

_Lady Brienne coughed a little, as though preparing to talk rather than from illness. Her free hand gripped the wrist Ser Jaime held her face with. “Jaime—“ But, whatever she was going to say, she decided against it and started again. “Why didn’t you write us you were coming? I’ve been worried.”_

_Ser Jaime didn’t answer, instead, he bowed his head to press a kiss to her temple. And then a few to her cheek, then jaw. His lips seemed to tremble against her skin, his breath equally uneven with emotion. Lady Brienne sighed, whereas Brienne wanted to start screaming._

_“I wanted to surprise you, I’m sorry.” He murmured, his lips grazing the corner of her jaw as he spoke._

_Lady Brienne pulled her other hand from his so she could cup either side of his face, drawing him to him and kissing him. Ser Jaime came closer, his torso nearly flush against Lady Brienne’s as he leaned in, his free hand slipped to the nape of her neck, pulling to deepen the kiss. His lips parted more and Lady Brienne followed his lead._

_Brienne had never_ really _kissed someone— there had been Hyle but it was never this… ardent. And this, this was not how she’d ever pictured it going, to put it mildly._

_“Gods, I missed you. I was going crazy.” Ser Jaime said, around rapid breathes. Brienne felt a slight twinge of guilt for she could easily guess what he was talking about. Then, he was kissing her again, more deeply with more tongue and Brienne was beginning to worry that she would never be able to look her Jaime in the eyes again._

_Lady Brienne wound her arms around Ser Jaime, sighing his name between kisses she pressed to his face, and hair, and neck. “I know, I’ve wished so many times that you were here.”_

_Ser Jaime groaned and wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders, lifting her off the cushions and pressing her against him._

Gods, _she thought,_ if they have sex before I wake up from this I’ll for certain never be able to look Jaime in the eye again.

_“Would that I were here all the while. But I’ll not leave anymore, and when you’re well enough to travel, we’ll go home.”_

_Lady Brienne made a soft noise of protest. “That’s a long time coming yet, can’t we go now? I would rather be home.”_

_Ser Jaime pulled away slightly, his hand sliding to the back of her head, enveloping her further in an embrace. “If the maester thinks it’s advisable, and only then, we don’t need to take intemperate risks.”_

_Lady Brienne kissed his cheek again. “You worry too much, Jaime. I’m not a child.”_

_Jaime sighed, and ran his hand down her back, Brienne couldn’t shiver, but she wanted to. “Of course I do, I can’t lose you. I’ll not let you leave me alone.”_

_Lady Brienne snorted. “Alone? Have you forgotten Galladon in only three moons? I notice you didn’t ask to see him.”_

“ _I assumed he’d be asleep.”_

_“I told you he hasn’t been sleeping until terribly late in the evening, perhaps you can get him to sleep earlier than I.”_

Finally, _Brienne thought,_ things are starting to get properly interesting.

_Only, she wasn’t allowed to stay it seemed. The small sitting room faded to black and into her now sunlight-doused bedroom in Lannisport— as quickly and seamlessly as waking from a dream._

Brienne sat bolt upright before she had even opened her eyes properly, feeling like she’d had the wind knocked out of her. She gasped harshly and pressed a hand over her mouth as though it would stop her from screaming.

Then, without really knowing why she whipped towards Jaime, calling out to him. “Jaime, _Jaime,_ wake up!”

Jaime startled, his hand closing over her arm and for a moment, he tensed like he was going to push her aside. Brienne tried to draw her hand away at that, realizing she’d been too impulsive, too panicked, perhaps it was wrong to trouble him with it. But, then he wouldn’t release her, even as he pushed himself awkward to sitting with his right arm.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

Brienne shook her head, knowing she had to say something yet only managing to stammer some nonsense. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to, I’m not sure how to—“

Jaime wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her shoulder. “Take a deep breath, Tarth. You’re fine.”

Brienne pushed his arm away and pressed his hand against the bed, shuddering in a way that she was sure was a bit hurtful. But she would never make it through an explanation with him hanging all over her.

Though he didn’t look upset, he wore an expression of concern twin to that of Ser Jaime’s— which was ultimately worse.

Brienne buried her face in her hands. “I saw the other me… and you,”

“Like a dream?”

Brienne shook her head still not looking up at him. “It was like I _was_ her, but I couldn’t do anything but watch what she did,”

Jaime was still and silent for a long moment, long enough for Brienne to chance a look over her shoulder to see what he was doing. The gesture shook him from his reverie; he started, pushing himself towards the edge of the bed and laboriously swinging his legs over the edge of it.

“We should go downstairs. The maids will have laid out breakfast by now.”

Burning mortification welled up in her and fear twisted in her stomach and chest. “You don’t believe me?”

Jaime shook his head, distractedly trying to put on his shoes and hold himself upright on her bedpost. “No, I believe you and I’m not nearly awake enough to talk about it yet.”

Brienne rose too, grabbing the robe hanging off the bedpost opposite Jaime and pulled it over her shoulders. “ _Fine.”_

Jaime looked up, hesitation on his face. “Brienne, it’s going to be all right.”

She nodded, unsure of how else to respond and set to work helping him make his way across the room into the front room of the apartment. Fortunately, from there it was a short walk to the stairs, though the stairs were their usual ordeal that Brienne had a good deal less patience for. When they crossed the grand hall and slipped into the still-empty dining room, she had to breathe a sigh of relief. Then, began to worry that he would just change the topic.

Jaime served himself oatmeal— which he claimed was the easiest to eat with one hand and insisted that if she wasn’t eating she should at least have some coffee. She insisted water was enough but allowed him to negotiate her up to black tea, which he also attempted to serve for her and spilled most of it on the tablecloth.

She held up a hand. “Jaime, please, just tell me you’ve _woken up_ enough to talk,”

He pulled out the seat around the corner from hers and sat. “I’m taking it seriously! You seemed like you needed a minute to calm down,”

“Well, thank you, but—“

He interrupted her with a gesture to ‘ _go on’. “_ I’m all ears.”

“Well, nothing so eventful as a battle happened. I was at a castle, all made of wood—“

Jaime nodded as though it made perfect sense. “Acorn Hall, that’s where Peck said she was, right?”

“I suppose,” The thought hadn’t struck her yet, but it seemed right enough, even though she knew almost nothing about the castle in question. “But, she was just _standing_ there at a window, watching the sun set, I guess. And it was like I was standing there too, I even felt sick like she did—“

Jaime’s brow furrowed. “Sick? Or were you freaking out? Because you always told me _then_ that you weren’t scared, you were nauseous, like I didn’t know they were the same thing.”

Brienne glared at him. “I don’t know. Like I had a small fever. I wasn’t scared until I realized it wasn’t just a fantastical dream.”

“And how did that happen?”

“I was getting there.” She retorted. “I could move by myself, or talk for myself. I _was_ her, physically. But she said and did things that I wouldn’t have, I guess, or I wanted to say something else.”

“Back up, who were you talking to?”

“Does it matter?” Brienne was beginning to hope she could describe the incident more vaguely, and keep that _other_ part for herself, and possibly confessing it to her sisters.

Jaime shrugged. “Maybe, what would I know? Besides, you said I was there too. ”

_Fuck._ If only her time-traveling abilities might allow her to smack herself from twenty-minutes past.“A maid. And then you, well _Ser_ Jaime.”

“Ser Jaime?”

“He was a knight, wasn’t he? It makes it less confusing. Anyways, Lady Brienne, I— we? fainted. I have no idea why, I couldn’t listen in on her thoughts, unfortunately. And when she came too, Ser Jaime was,” Brienne hesitated and drew in a long breath. “Also there, just returned from the battle at King’s Landing.”

Jaime’s spoon settled against the side of his bowl with a soft _clink,_ and his hand went to her forearm. He didn’t look surprised when she drew back.

“You made out with him, didn’t you?”

Brienne was sure she was blushing so much she resembled the scarlet wallpaper behind her. “No, _not me!_ The other-Brienne did! I was just also there.”

“Did they have sex?”

“Jaime, are you absol— no, they didn’t! Eventually, they just said several nauseating things to each other and were going to _Galladon_ when I woke up.”

“Nauseating because Ser Jaime’s descriptions of the battle were so meticulous?”

“No, he was just talking about how he’d missed her and how he was worried about her.”

Jaime considered it for a minute. “I think I would get on well with myself, you are worrying me.”

“That’s really not helpful, Lannister.”

“Two more questions, one, was Ser Jaime a good kisser—“

Brienne had been fooled by his grave tone, and him saying he was worried too, and almost choked on the first mouthful of tea she’d managed to take. “ _Jaime, no, d—!”_

“No? Interesting, interesting. And two, did Lady Brienne die? Or could she have?”

Brienne almost shook her head, _surely not, there wasn’t any danger. And she wasn’t so ill._ But, then, she supposed she had no idea. She didn’t remember her deaths in the other times, of course, then she had been her own person if it made a difference, but she really only remembered the moments just before it.

“I don’t know,” She conceded. Her sadness at the idea took her by surprise, they had to have died at some point, it made no difference when or how. “Seven, I hadn’t considered it.”

Jaime moved his chair around the edge of the table, knocking it against hers.

“Jaime, don’t—“

Jaime hushed her, his right arm wrapping around her shoulder. In spite of how it made her mind feel worryingly fuzzy and her stomach feel like it was swooping into her chest, she let him.“We’re still here, Brienne, it’ll be all right. I’m not him any more than you’re her,”

_Are you certain?_ She wanted to ask as his left arm wrapped around the front of her shoulders, his hand curling around the back of side of her head and drawing her to him. _It feels almost the same._

*

It was decided that they wouldn’t tell Tyrion about the dream. Jaime didn’t think there was any harm done in waiting, and Brienne agreed if it meant that she wouldn’t have to tell the story twice. Briefly, she wondered if she shouldn’t have written it down first like Tyrion had been doing, it would irritate him that she didn’t.

They met the others in the library. Brienne expected to be the first person there and awake, but Tyrion was there when they arrived, slumped asleep on the couch. He must have been sitting there since the previous evening. Papers were strewn around him across the sofa and coffee table. At the end of the couch, a blackboard covered in scrawled notes and uneven lines was propped on an easel— one of the ones that usually held a painting, it seemed.

Jaime settled in an armchair across from his brother and took the embroidered pillow sitting against its arm to hurl at Tyrion. He jerked awake and looked around, expression turning from concern to vexation when he spotted Jaime on the chair.

“Sleep well?” Jaime asked, waggish and sarcastic, a smile on his face that pleaded innocence to waking his brother.

“No better than you,” Tyrion jerked his chin at Jaime, his eyes flickering over him, as though it were clear from his appearance that he was exhausted. Which Brienne watched with incredulity, Jaime always managed to look good.

Jaime shrugged. “It wouldn’t have been so bad if Brienne didn’t get us up at dawn.”

Brienne crossed her arms over her chest, glaring to hide a sudden flicker of fear that Jaime was going to tell about the dream after all. But, he didn’t, Tyrion just laughed and told him that it was normal for her to get up at such hours— he always found her in the office far too early, and usually after he’d spent the night there himself on a research bender. Jaime raised an eyebrow at her, noting her suspicion, like he was asking _what? You didn’t believe me?_

Brienne rolled her eyes and moved to sit on the arm of Jaime’s chair, pushing his arm aside roughly. “What were you working on, Lannister?”

Tyrion sat up, running a hand through his wild hair, and coughed a bit to clear the sleep from his voice. “Just my notes from your accounts. How it happened— fainting, et cetera. How you woke up— in your clothes from here, so notably, it isn’t a continuation of the last time by any means.”   
  
Brienne nodded. “Which further supports Jaime’s theory that we have to die to get out of it.”

Tyrion nodded. “We should wait until the others arrive to go through all of it.”

Brienne resisted saying something about how she doubted Sansa and Podrick were very interested in the side-project of a side-project and nodded. “Well, if you want to wait, I have other work that can be done.”

Tyrion nodded, and she rose, wandering back towards the shelves. She had intended to find the book she had been reading the last time she had been able to work on her dissertation— ages ago, before Harrenhal. _It wasn’t truly ages ago_ , she supposed, _but it feels like I lived so many weeks since then._ Briefly, she wondered if her ability to time travel could not be used to give herself more time to work on her dissertation.

In the end, she found herself in the section of library housing the records of the Lannister family, searching through the volumes of the relevant years for her name. The first was a brief sentence written in a sort of general summary of events within the family, five years before the Great War.

_Prince Jaime Lannister wed Lady Brienne of Tarth on this day in 138 AC, in defiance of King Tywin’s command he wed Lady Lysa of Riverrun._

Unfortunately, the entry was not dated, contrary to the wording of the sentence. But she marked the page with her index finger and skimmed through the other pages. It was a lot of nonsense, dates of parties, and meetings, and negotiations with nearby lords. On any other day, she figured she take interest in the other reports, but she was too consumed with the idea of finding mention of her other-self. Three thin volumes later, she found a new record;

_Prince Galladon Lannister was born on the eleventh day of the tenth month to Prince Jaime Lannister and Lady Brienne Lannister._

Brienne wasn’t surprised, wondering inanely why her other self hadn’t been granted the title of ‘princess’ upon her marriage, though, given the circumstances, she doubted the rest of the Lannisters were very fond of Lady Brienne. And, it didn’t seem as though she or Ser Jaime had done anything else of importance— no one remembered them now.

She reached for the volume dated _One-Four-Three_ in elegant, cursive script; wondering if she were not about to read about Lady Brienne dying, and whether or not she’d rather it be confirmed.

“Brienne? Brienne, gods, where are you?” Sansa was calling— they must have arrived, and she must have been sitting there for a long while. A moment later, as she reached over to slip the books back into their places on the shelf, Sansa rounded the corner, heels clacking on the polished wood floor.

“What are you doing?” She asked, leaning back to check the category posted to the end of the bookshelf. “Oh gods, tell me you’re not looking yourself up.”

Brienne clambered to her feet and brushed her hands together to shake the dirt off them. “I was curious!”

Sansa crossed her arms. “Come, before you make yourself crazy. Tyrion wants us to get started.”

Brienne ducked her head and followed, not arguing with her. But, after a few paces, Sansa seemed to be bursting with questions herself.

“So? What did you find out? Why did Ser Jaime know of her?”

“Not so much, I’m afraid. She was quite unimportant, a lady of Tarth, so, of minor importance to begin with. She married the other Jaime, second son of the last King of the Westerlands, and from what I can tell, did nothing else.”

Sansa frowned. “Odd for someone so unimportant to marry a prince.”

Brienne felt irrationally offended on the part of Lady Brienne, though she knew Sansa was right, and the likely explanation. “The Lannisters must have needed something badly from her father.”

Sansa laughed. “What a fortunate time it was to be a woman.”

Brienne snorted inelegantly, thankful that Sansa didn’t seem to have more questions. In the main part of the library, Tyrion was already sitting on the heavy, oak work table, he had moved his easel and blackboard beside him and was prematurely explaining something to Podrick. Jaime’s chair had been pulled round to face the board, and Jaime looked like he might have been dozing off.

Brienne settled back on the arm of his chair, knocking him lightly with her elbow to wake him.

“What?”

“I found _Galladon_ in your family’s record books,”

“Who’s that?” Podrick cut in, interrupted whatever Jaime opened his mouth to say.

“Her brother,” Jaime said hurriedly. “Don’t ask so many questions.”

“Leave him alone,” Brienne snapped. “It was also the name of the other Jaime’s son.”

Tyrion clapped his hands, forcing them all to look at him. “Can we please focus?”

“Gods, yes, what is so important that you’ve summoned us all here?” Sansa groaned. “We all heard the story yesterday.”

“Why? To keep you up to speed of course!” Tyrion pushed himself closer to the edge of the table and gestured at the board in front of him. It still made little sense. “It doesn’t seem that these two are traveling in an out of history, it’s more like, a drop-in visit. And lacking any evidence in my readings that it was caused mechanically, on top of the fact that they met Melisandre, and she was mentioned by the Lannisters’ council, perhaps its time to look more into this woman.”

Sansa nodded. “I could ask my brother to check for us.”

“Oh, gods no. The last thing we need is another person in on this.” Tyrion said hurriedly. “I’ve half a mind to talk Arya out of believing it if she can’t be bothered to show up to meetings.”

“She’s not involved.” Sansa and Brienne said at once. “Leave her be.”

“She’s just a teenager.” Sansa continued.

“So’s Pod, he hasn’t got some excuse, though I suppose I’m paying him to be here.” Tyrion finished his aside rather lamely. “I need a bit more time to look into it, I’ll write to Varys today and tell him of the developments. Perhaps he knows where we can start. In the meantime, we’re firmly back to avoiding the ruins.”

“Should keep Father and Cersei happy,” Jaime said, sounding as though he were extremely opposed to the idea.

“It will, unfortunately.” Tyrion agreed.

“What is wrong with your family?” Sansa muttered with distaste.

“So many things,” Tyrion said, while Jaime just made a noise that might have been surprise or offense. Brienne wasn’t sure why he was surprised by Sansa’s judgment or offended— surely he put up with Tyrion railing against Tywin and Cersei as much as the rest of them, if not significantly more.

“Regardless, you’re dismissed, enjoy the rest of the day doing… whatever else it is you get up to when you’re not here.” Tyrion pushed himself the rest of the way off the table and turned away from them.

Sansa took the blackboard off the easel to look at it more closely, Podrick following her lead. Jaime turned to her and began to ask her again what she had found in the family records. She told him first of Galladon, then of the first mention of her.

Jaime’s face morphed into an odd, mock-affectionate sort of expression, as though it were just _too sweet._ “A forbidden marriage, how romantic is that? I didn’t know I had it in me,”

“First of all, you don’t, and you didn’t. Second of all, it was probably some sort of negotiation so please calm down.”

“A negotiation that had nothing to do with the King? Seems unlikely, Detective Tarth.”

“Can you please— You know, he probably _did_ know, it was just some scheme. Most kings take part in them, and the Lannister kings were always the worst abo—“

Outside the library, somewhere along the grand hallway beyond, a door slammed with such force, it shook the door to the library. In his surprise, Podrick dropped the blackboard on the floor and the slate shattered in its wooden frame. Brienne leaped off her seat on Jaime’s chair, moving towards Pod and Sansa instinctively.

The slamming door was followed within moments by shouting, still incomprehensible through the heavy door, but were unmistakable the tones of a fierce argument. The racket sent Tyrion running out from behind the bookshelves and brought Jaime to his feet. Both of them were moving towards the door before Brienne could wonder if she should be helping Jaime rather than standing with Sansa and Podrick.

Though, she didn’t wonder long, as Sansa pulled her and Podrick after Tyrion and Jaime, and stopping in the door so that all three of them could see into the hallway.

Tywin and Cersei were arguing, standing three doors down from the library. Tywin was commanding, his voice as loud and rumbling as thunder. Cersei was nearly hysterical. Both of them talked over the other and made the whole thing incomprehensible to an outsider, each taking great offense to what the other was saying.

“What’s going on?” Jaime called out, now leaning on Tyrion to support himself as he hobbled across the hall.

“Stay out of this,” Tywin shouted, turning his fierce glare on Tyrion and Jaime. “It’s none of your concern.”

“That can’t be true because I’m a little concerned.” Jaime retorted. “Cersei, what’s this about?”

Cersei scoffed. “Please, you lost your right to know anything when you decided to not be helpful anymore.”

“What the hell?” Sansa muttered, echoing Brienne’s own thoughts.

“Seriously, were they really just saying they don’t have anything wrong?” Podrick muttered. “They’re all nuts.”

“ _Cersei!_ ” Tyrion snapped. “Jaime has helped you all his life, he was injured, it wasn’t his fault.”

“Perhaps he should have been smarter, then,” Cersei said coldly. “And I doubt he’d be able to help me in any case.”

“Try me,” Jaime shot back.

“Father has arranged for me to get married to the King’s son, once again proving that his ambition has absolutely no boundaries— not to mention such things haven’t been done for decades.” Cersei snapped. “What’s your brilliant plan for outmaneuvering him on that? Or will you just kill some more people?”

Brienne’s hand closed over the doorframe, she wasn’t involved, but she felt as though Cersei had struck her in the chest herself.

“ _Tyrion!_ Get your guests away from this immediately,” Tywin said, finally breaking his silence. “Cersei, you’re making a scene.”

Cersei turned her glare on her father again. “I have helped you in everything you asked, all my life. And I’m worth no more than a marriage alliance? This isn’t one hundred years ago, I won’t do it.”

“ _Tyrion, please!”_ Tywin snapped, seeming not to notice Cersei’s argument.

Tyrion crossed hurriedly to them and motioned for them to continue in the opposite direction. “Jaime, are you—“

“I’ll stay.” Jaime waved him aside, his eyes not leaving his father and sister. “Just keep them out of this.”

Tyrion nodded sharply and moved back towards them, waving them out into the hallway and towards its other end. All the while, his expression tense with concern. “Move along, Podrick, trust me you don’t want to get caught in more Lannister dramatics.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I'm so grateful for the response to the last few chapters, so I'm glad people are enjoying it! As always comments/constructive criticism are welcome and thanks again for staying with this story!  
> -B


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion's team goes to Winterfell.

ONE WEEK LATER - LANNISPORT

Brienne paced across the courtyard again trying to temper her irritation as she glanced out over the sea, squinting in the sunlight it reflected and refracted. She had been waiting here for nearly an hour, Cersei and Jaime had long since wandered off to do whatever else there was to do in Lannisport other than stand on the street-side courtyard of a coffee shop. That at least was a relief, she was growing tired of their endless bickering and Cersei’s probably cruel attempts to draw into their conversation.

Brienne rechecked the note in her pocketbook for what must have been the hundredth time, smoothing it over with her finger until she could see the time— three o’clock in the afternoon. And then at the watch on her wrist, it was three-fifty-four. Drawing in a sharp breath, she smoothed her hands over her trousers, forcing the creases in them to lie properly. Her hands traced over her waistband as well, nervously checking that her blouse was tucked in neatly.

“Miss Tarth?”

She whirled around, tucking the note into her back pocket. Behind her, a man, significantly shorter than she was, wearing a dark sweater and trousers, and the most unfortunate combination of a goatee and mustache she’d ever seen, was standing. He craned his neck rather conspicuously to look at her— like he was mocking her.

“Mr. Baelish, good of you to stop by,” She offered him her hand, smiling as nicely as she could manage through her annoyance.

He seemed to pick up on it, his eyes glinting strangely as he took her hand and shook it. “Shall we sit?”

She nodded, and followed him to a table in the front corner of the courtyard. Brienne settled in the inside seat, and tried not to feel caged in between the table and fence bordering the courtyard.

“You’ve come a long way to be here,” Baelish said, and she knew he wanted something from her answer. “I must be an important interview.”

Brienne glanced away from him long enough to draw a pencil and notebook from her pocketbook. “Not such a long journey, I’m afraid. I’ve been staying with the Lannisters.”

“Is that so? Fascinating. I wouldn’t have imagined someone of your background would be particularly friendly with Tywin.”

Brienne narrowed her eyes. “You claim to know a lot then, Baelish.”

He waved the question off. “No, not at all. I know Tyrion, I’ve helped him with a project he has going on in the past. You’ve come up, being one of his star students.”

Brienne smiled tightly. “Nice to be recognized, I suppose.”

“Yes, it usually is. Has he taken you up to the ruins yet?”

Brienne coughed, the question alarmed her before she remembered it was a normal question to ask someone in her line of study. She was momentarily spared from responding when the waiter came by to take their coffee order, but even with the time to recover, she was fairly certain she’d done a miserable job of it. “He has. They’re remarkable.”

Baelish hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, an odd place if I may say so, but I’m sure it’s been informative for your thesis. What is it on again? The fall of the Targaryens?”

“Yes, specifically vis-à-vis their military and political actions before and during the end of the Great War.”

Baelish grinned. “How appropriate.”

“Yes, well, there’s a lot to cover. Though, your work on the last kings of the independent kingdoms has been quite helpful in doing so. You contextualize the competing forces prior to the war remarkably well. Though, I was hoping overall to learn more about the last King of the Westerlands, though there is surprisingly little from him in the Lannister archives.”

 _Well, it was something of a blindspot. Even if it’s more personally important now._ She thought, desperately hoping she didn’t ridiculous asking.

Baelish laughed. “I’m shocked Tyrion hasn’t provided you with the stuff he gave me when we worked together, I wrote my section on him while I worked with him, you know.”

Brienne hadn’t, so she shrugged, hoping he didn’t catch it if her eyes widened in surprise. “Tyrion Lannister would likely not be my first choice for an advisor were I to do this over again.”

“Well, what do you want to know about King Tywin? And not the one who’s currently your roommate.”

In light of recent events, the joke fell flat on several fronts, but Brienne forced a smile anyway to not offend. “Well, I know much of what he did do, but I’ve found little on what he wanted from those actions. It often seems they didn’t play out as he wished.”

Baelish nodded. “Well, he certainly didn’t anticipate being forced into a unified Westeros— have you read his wife’s journal? Remarkable book.”

 _I really am growing too paranoid,_ she thought, as she against forced her to not let the mention of the book unnerve her. “Indeed. Though not nearly enough for what I hope to understand…”

She spent the next fifteen minutes quizzing him and pressing him on King Tywin’s actions; his laws, the important events he’d attended, what he’d wanted from staying out of the war so long, and how he reacted when rewarded for it with an attack. It was useful, insightful, truly, though she thought she’d be better getting the readings from Tyrion— after she finished telling him off for not mentioning them in the first place. She made careful notes and forced herself to not ask about the other Lannisters until she’d covered all the obviously important things.

Finally, she exhausted her list of other things to ask him about. “What of his children? Had they any importance in the war?”

Baelish thought for a long moment. “He had two sons, no daughters, as I’m sure you well know. Tommen became lord of the Westerlands after him, the younger one, I scarcely remember his name, he was something of a disgrace, died rather young I think.”

“You don’t remember at all, his name?” Brienne asked, knowing damn well what the answer was.

“Strangely, I think it was Jaime, he squired at Storm’s End, and from there, I believe went to Tarth, or perhaps Estermont? I’m sure your people would know more than I. Though perhaps not, again, he was nothing to speak of, truly.”

Brienne wrote it all down, staring at the words written in her familiar slanting script and wondering why they looked so strange there. She chewed on her lip, and traced the pen over the words again, searching for another question, one that wouldn’t seem an odd segue.

A hand landed on her forearm. “Miss Tarth?”

She glanced up and set her pen aside, Baelish was looking at her with concern, but also like she’d grown a second head. “Apologies, sometimes I get caught up in thinking it through, as it were.”

Baelish’s arm squeezed her arm more tightly. “Yes, I can only imagine what it must be like for you.”

“BRIENNE!”

Both of them twisted, and Brienne nearly groaned as Jaime beckoning her towards him and Cersei standing a few buildings down. The gesture didn’t seem to be a reassuringly energetic and gleeful, as though he were trying to be irritating. Rather, it seemed urgent.

Brienne rose before realizing she hadn’t said her goodbyes. “Sorry, that’s Tyrion’s brother, I’ve been helping him as he can’t walk. I best get going,”

Baelish didn’t seem to understand at all what was going on, but let her go with farewells and a smile that half made her want to dive into the ocean and wash them away. It wasn’t the flirtatious sort of creepy that Sansa got often enough from similar men, she rather felt like he would try to set up another meeting and poison the sugar for her coffee or the like.

She tried not to hurry away.

When she approached them, Cersei gave her a long-suffering look.

“Thank the gods you’re back, I can’t abide another minute of this.” She gestured at Jaime.

Brienne pressed her lips together. “Lucky for you, it’s my job.”

She took Jaime’s chair and pushed him a bit away from Cersei, aware that she was following closely, still. “What’s the problem, Lannister?”

“Who’s the looker, Tarth?”

Brienne rolled her eyes, looking back to Cersei and seeing her own exasperation there— surprisingly.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you wanted me to steer you into the ocean, would your sister not do it?” She shot back, watching in surprise as Cersei _laughed_ at it— seemingly genuine, but it was difficult to tell.

“Tyrion sent a messenger,” Jaime continued so quietly she had to stoop to hear what he was saying. “He wants us to leave for Winterfell as soon as we can get back to the house.”

“What? Why?” Brienne tried to match his quiet voice, but the utter horror at the idea made it harder to do so than it should have been.

Jaime shrugged. “I’m guessing it’s not because he wants to meet your parents finally.”

Brienne sighed, hands clenching over the handles of his chair. “No, and just when I thought he was giving up on this.”

“I’m staying down here, if I am made to go back to that house I can’t be held responsible for my actions.” Cersei snapped, sounding very aware that she was a third-wheel to the conversation. “Have a good evening, Jaime.”

“All right, bye,” Jaime said dismissively, barely watching as she turned and stalked off. “Do you actually _want_ him to give up?”

Brienne shrugged. “It’s been a normal week, I’ve finished eight pages of my thesis and I’m certain they’ve improved since my last draft.”

“You’ve also read fifty years of records in the library to find out about what happened to Ser Jaime, if you can’t honestly tell me that you didn’t ask Tyrion’s friend about him in some way, I’d consider believing you, but—“

“Fine, I did. How did you know I would?”

Jaime hesitated for a long moment like he was weighing possible answers. “I read the questions you’d written for him in your notebook.”

“He didn’t have much I didn’t know already, he considered him unimportant. I only learned that he squired at Storm’s End before going on to Tarth,”

Jaime hummed, considering it. “Following the love of his life, Lady Brienne, of course.”

“Gross.” Brienne bit out, definitely not noticing how he’d made her heart skip in her chest.

*

Winterfell was far enough North that train lines didn’t extend so far reliably. No one wanted to spend the money to keep up the tracks enough for constant traffic.So, Tyrion had informed them nearly the moment they walked through the door of Jaime’s room, along with the fact that they would be taking Jaime’s car, and the Starks, Brienne, and Podrick would split the driving time between them. It was a twenty-hour long journey in ordinary conditions and in the middle of the year, in a summer lasting this long, there would never be a better time to make the trip.

With the possible exception of never, because it was an awful idea for reasons beyond that Brienne always dreaded having to go back to Winterfell. The first of the other reasons being that it was already late in the day, the sun was sagging in the sky and none of them were very keen on traversing the mountain that lay between Lannisport and the first towns in Riverland.

But, Tyrion insisted. There was a tunnel through the mountains, he said, that should be perfectly fine. Which would turn out to be false, but it was Podrick’s turn to drive first, and Brienne’s second, so she slept through the first five hours, waking only when they made a stop an hour from Riverrun to eat.

Brienne was thankful that she’d slept, though it was something of a miracle that she had as allegedly, a few hours in, Jaime, Arya, and Podrick had begun singing along with every song on the radio they knew the words to— and trying valiantly with those they didn’t. Tyrion was amused, and Sansa was getting angry in her exhaustion.

Brienne sat on the hood of the car, trying to study the course through Riverland and into Arryn Vale. There weren’t too many roads, no one had bothered to develop them as much as they had in Essos, which Brienne heard were a clever and complex network. Here, most private properties lay off service roads and little effort had been spared in creating multiple ways to link places to each other. It read like a train map, though with the small added benefit of running on your own schedule.

Arya hopped up beside her, seeming to appear from thin air and sending her nearly flying out of her seat.

“Looking forward to the family reunion?” She asked, though she certainly already knew the answer.

Brienne laughed and offered a diplomatic: “It’ll be good to see Bran,”

Of the three of them, Sansa had always got on best with Catelyn. Arya, Bran, and Brienne always managed to be at odds with her, and often Selwyn as well. As much as Brienne loved her father, it was never quite easy.

“I mean, I love home,” Arya began, kicking the heel of her boot against the impact bar. “But Sansa isn’t nearly as demanding as Mother, I hope we’re not there for too long.”

Brienne nodded. “I’ve no doubt Tyrion will have us running off to god knows where within three days. Maybe Dorne this time, which might be nice.”

Arya snorted. “I just wish Bran could come to King’s Landing now, and then we wouldn’t have to go back. It’s hard enough to move him that Mother could be just as easily convinced to come to us if she needed to.”

“We’re not even going for them,” Brienne said dryly. “Tyrion wants to use our connections.”

Arya made another displeased sound. “Gendry and I were supposed to go sailing this weekend, he’ll probably think Tywin killed us or something when I don’t show up. He really doesn’t like them.”

“Why does he stay around?”

Arya shrugged. “His mom doesn’t want to leave for some reason, even though there are plenty of good gardener jobs elsewhere, I’m sure. It’s stupid.”

“Things are getting serious with you, then?” Brienne shoved Arya’s shoulder a bit with her own, beginning to fold the map back together in her lap as she waited for a response.

“Kind of. Not as serious as you and the taller Lannister, don’t look at me like I haven’t noticed all your ‘private’ conversations this week. You can’t possibly be talking about time traveling that much,”

 _Oh can we ever,_ Brienne thought bitterly, relieving to have something other to think of then the blush burning away at her face.

“I mean, how did that even happen, seriously?” Arya asked.

Brienne refused to let herself wince at the question. “It’s not like that. Jaime’s well out of my league.”

“Jaime Lannister, the murderer? _You’re_ out of _his_ league, are you kidding?” Arya twisted around. “That’s right, Lannister, you’re out of my sister’s league, and that lurking isn’t helping.”

“I’m not lurking, I’m trying to open the trunk.” Jaime snapped back. “And what the hell are you even talking about, Stark?”

Arya opened her mouth to stay something, and shut it when Brienne grabbed her shoulder, squeezing tighter than was really necessary. Which was a bit mean, she supposed, when Arya was defending her so fervently, it made the lies seem more like the truth.

“Ow— nothing, Brienne!” Arya shook her off and shot her a resentful look. “I’m trying to help you out!”

They piled back into the car, this time Brienne took over driving for Podrick, Jaime moved to the front seat and booted Sansa to the back, saying he needed more space for his legs, though it quickly became clear he wanted to control the radio. Likely because he knew Brienne would be bad at it.

The move doomed them to another hour of Arya, Podrick, and Jaime’s sing-a-long to an array of new songs. Podrick was the only one of them who had any musical ability. Though, Jaime did his best to compensate with dramatics that made her want to smile more than she cared to admit. And Arya leaned into her scratchy voice, often trying to sound as demented as she could.

When they dropped off to sleep, Brienne found she missed all the noise in the face of complete silence and a darkened road in front of her, lit only by the car’s two beams.

*

Brienne’s eyes were beginning to sting with fatigue. Her traveling companions had long since fallen asleep. Arya and Podrick’s heads leaned together over the back of the seats, having re-assumed their usual places in the back-facing seats when the car jostled, they did too; their heads knocking together. But it didn’t seem to bother them. Sansa was draped across the middle bench, using her jacket as a blanket and her hair as a shield from the streetlights and car’s lights, her legs stretched out and forcing Tyrion to huddle against the opposite wall.

Jaime was in the passenger seat, on the bench beside her, asleep against the window and mumbling nonsense under his breath.

Being left alone with her thoughts this late in the night on this little sleep was a unique sort of torture. Her mind going over all sorts of unpleasantries. She wondered what her father would meet her with this time, undoubtedly over-concerned questions about what was the matter so insistent she began to wonder whether there were something wrong with her. Or, ask dozens of questions that tended towards hinting that he disapproved of her choices and wished she was different somehow. Or, perhaps Catelyn would shower her in tips on how to deal with her unruly hair, and what makeup to use to conceal her crooked nose, gently and kindly offered mixed with a strong undertone of disapproval. It would most certainly be the worst when they asked if she had finally managed to get her nightmares under control, or if she— and those around her, still had to put up with all that.

 _They mean well._ Sansa would always say. _I’m sorry it always comes out wrong._

Brienne agreed. She knew her father loved her, and Catelyn was fond of her, it was probably her fault too, for being paranoid.

Jaime jerked his head around a bit in his sleep, drawing her attention from her thoughts for a moment, then he settled back against the window with a sleepy sort of sound that made her heart feel like it was trying to jump out of her chest.

She supposed it was safer to think of her parents. At least that wasn’t a new sort of pain. The less she got into it about Jaime, the easier it would be to go back to normal. And selfishly, she’d found herself praying that he wouldn’t end up moving in with Tyrion.

They were just starting to be proper friends, she thought, and somehow his endless joking about the _Other them,_ and his trying to monopolize her attention for various stupid reasons had a decidedly _un_ friendly effect on her. She felt too warm all over and had to watch herself so she didn’t lose her train of thought, or her words, in how flustered she felt. A large part of helping him was touching him— his hand, his arm, his legs on occasion if he had trouble moving them, and even that was hard to do with a straight face.

 _Gods, I have a crush on him._ The thought had occurred to her four days before, whilst sitting with him in his room while he worked his way through writing some letter and she read— instead of being a nice realization like it should have been, it felt like someone slapped her.

People like Jaime Lannister would never. People like _fucking Hyle Hunt_ wouldn’t even. So what business did she have getting herself involved in this?

This time, Jaime jerking awake, moving forward so quickly, he nearly hit his head on the dashboard, shook her from her thoughts. Unthinkingly, she extended her right arm to push him back against the seat and out of harm’s way.

“All right?” She asked, glancing only briefly before she returned her eyes to the road ahead of them.

Jaime cleared his throat, barely needing a moment to recover despite how shocking what he said truly was. “I think I had one of those… dreams, about the other us.”

It was all she could do not to slam on the brakes, or swerve at the admission. Her fingers tightened over the steering wheel, and she pressed her lips together, hoping to conceal her shock.

“Are you certain?” She managed. “Was it like—“

“I was watching from inside his body, yes.”

Brienne swallowed hard against a wave of horror that felt like her insides were jumping into her throat. “Was Lady Brienne dead?”

Jaime looked confused. “No, but—“

“Did you see Galladon?”

Jaime frowned properly now. “No, why do you want that so badly?”

Brienne shrugged, unable to explain it to herself beyond; “Curiosity.”

The answer seemed enough for him and he carried on. “No, it was _before_. Before the Great War, I think, before they left Tarth.”

That surprised her, she hadn’t thought on whether or not it would be possible to see all the events, or onesin sequence with what they saw while in the ruins. Or at all really, about the possibilities of going and seeing other things.

“And? What happened?”

Jaime slid across the bench until they were sitting nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, his hand rested at the nape of her neck. She shivered and instantly cursed herself for doing so.

“It scared you,” She noted, failing in her attempt to sound casual.

Jaime’s fingers brushed over her the small hairs at the base of her neck that had escaped her ponytail. “No, you look like I just told youthe worst news of your life.”

Brienne squirmed a little and brushed his hand aside. “Well, your cold hands aren’t relaxing me!”

“Sorry.”

Brienne bit her lip and then moved one hand from the steering wheel to his where it lay in his lap. “No, I am, that was wrong, I’m just—“

Jaime nodded, grinned, and released her hand. “Better keep both hands on the wheel, hmm Tarth?”

She took it back and returned it to its place at three-o’clock on the wheel, watching as her knuckles paled from how tightly she held on. “So, what happened?”

“They got engaged. Ser Jaime spoke to her parents for permission.”

“That was it?” Brienne asked flatly.

“I’m afraid if I give any details, you’ll drive off the road.”

Brienne grimaced. “All right, no need.”

Jaime sighed. “There was a beautiful castle— Evenfall, it was overlooking the—“

“I’m familiar.” Brienne cut him off, not in any mood to hear him describe her old home.

“You are?”

“I was born there. The Tarths didn’t give up their seat as most families did, it was a simple enough estate that they didn’t need to to look modest.”

Jaime nodded. “I’m sorry it’s gone.”

Brienne nodded tersely. “So you saw her then? Lady Brienne? How much does she look like me?”

Jaime frowned, glancing her over, twisting so his arm laid over the back of the bench beside her as he did. “Her hair was quite a bit longer, but exactly like you. Why?’

Brienne shrugged, she had wondered if her other self was somehow different, if only slightly. It seemed unlikely, but it seemed equally unlikely that Ser Jaime could have been persuaded to marry what she saw in the mirror over whoever his father intended for him. “I know I was mistaken for her, but, I just wondered.”

“She did nearly cry when Ser Jaime asked her, I can’t quite picture you crying.”

“You saw me cry, in the Tower.”

“Different situation entirely.” Jaime dismissed. “In all fairness, they both almost cried, so I’m going to go ahead and say there was no secret deal that Lady Brienne was traded off for, not to mention the fact that it wasn’t mentioned to her parents. Meaning, I win the argument.”

“What argument?”

“The argument about why they even got married.”

“That wasn’t an argument.”

“Yes, it was. And now, this is an argument, dear gods, you’re annoying”

She sighed again and tried to ignore how the words stung a bit. _You’re pathetic, you already knew he thought that._

“I can give you the speech that Ser Jaime proposed with, here allow me to set the scene, they’re on this beach, lying there.”

“Please don’t—“

“And Ser Jaime says; _Brienne, I had a—“_

 _“_ Jaime, I don’t care. You win, whatever.”

“ _meeting with your father this afternoon…”_

“That’s awful, poor Lady Brienne.”

“ _And Lady Brienne got all concerned about that,_ and now, she really sounded like you because _she told him to forget about it and was so sorry for whatever he’d said.”_

“What are you guys talking about?”

Brienne drew in a sharp breath at the sudden noise, her eyes flashed to the rearview mirror to see Tyrion, leaning towards them, with his chin pressed against the bench.

 _“Gods damn it, Tyrion!”_ Jaime hissed. Though, he gave up on telling the rest of the story, which was fine, because she didn’t _need_ to hear it. Even if she desperately wanted to.

THE PRESENT - WINTERFELL

Brienne slept most of the rest of the way to Winterfell. The backseat was much too cramped for the length of her legs for such an extended period of time. But, Jaime had commandeered the rest of the bench, his head propped against her thigh. Apparently, the extended sitting was making his injury act up more than usual. Eventually, her efforts to look out the window and think of mundane things, rather than pay attention to his head in her lap, lulled her to sleep where she stayed until they were on the outskirts of Wintertown and Arya began to make a stir. She was pointing out all the places they went when they were younger to Podrick and Tyrion with exuberance that well outpaced any other reluctance she’d had to return.

The center of Wintertown was bustling with the mid-afternoon traffic and activity. The Lannisters’ car was either more ostentatious than the ones people owned here, or the Westerland registration plate was out of the ordinary because everyone who paid the car any attention gave it a suspicious once-over.

The Starks house was close to the outskirts of town, at its northernmost point. Like many of the old families, they had their ancestral home; Winterfell, and another where they lived. The Starks had stayed close to the old keep, half a mile down its service road so as to be close to it, as well as the rest of civilization in Wintertown. Most notably, the back garden was part of the old Winterfell godswood, even though no one had used the place for worship in years— even the Northerners no longer looked to the old gods, the King would never have allowed it.

The Starks’ house was made of grey stone, like their former castle, and aside from its significantly larger size, it looked like many of the other homes in Wintertown, narrow windows, and steeply slanted roofs. The windows were narrow and the golden light spilled out of them interrupted by the diamond-shaped metal panes weaving through the glass. At this time of year, the garden was in full bloom, not with the soft, colorful flowers one would see in Lannisport but with tougher grasses, herbs and, bushes in pale green, purple and brown.

Arya peeled into the driveway, stopping abruptly and switching off the car. Though, for a time, none of them made any move to get out. No one came out of the house to meet them but Brienne could hear the dogs barking, announcing their arrival behind the door.

The sound set Arya in motion, opening the door and rushing towards the house. She had always loved her family’s dogs, she probably missed them more than Bran. And when Arya opened the door, the three of them burst out, jumping all over her. They were quickly followed by the appearance of Catelyn at the door who looked beyond surprised to see them there.

She said something to Arya, clearly glad to see her but worried and irate at her sudden appearance.

Sansa and Brienne whirled on Tyrion.

“You didn’t call?” Sansa snapped.

Tyrion frowned at her. “It’s your mother, what was I supposed to say?”

“This is your trip!” Sansa opened the passenger door and slipped out, hurrying over to her mother and sister, already calling out an explanation as she went.

By the time she and Podrick had managed to get Jaime out of the car and into his chair, Catelyn had been briefed on what was going on, and Bran was beginning to get an explanation from Arya.

Brienne greeted Bran and then Catelyn and endured a few comments on how exhausted and pale she looked before making introductions for Podrick and Jaime.

Catelyn immediately hugged Podrick, gushing about how lovely it was to meet him after hearing so much about him.

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you too from my daughters,” She told Jaime, coldly. “It’s good to meet you.”

Jaime grinned. “Good to meet you too. We’re all very fond of your daughters down in Lannisport, I hope they’ve reported good things,”

Catelyn grimaced, saying easily enough with no words that the reports hadn’t been very good. Which, Brienne felt a twinge of guilt at; she, as much as Sansa, had Catelyn and Selwyn plenty of how she disliked Jaime and his family.

“Well, Arya is enjoying herself, at the least,” Catelyn replied diplomatically. “But, you best come inside, even now there’s such a chill in the air.”

Her arm wound around Brienne’s waist and her other around Sansa’s shoulders as she guided them into the house. “Your father isn’t home yet, Brienne, but I know he’ll be thrilled to see you. Oh, if only I knew you were coming, I would have made something better for dinner.”

“Mother, it’s fine. Tyrion will probably be halfway to the library by the time we set the table,”

“I imagine you’re right, though I can’t imagine why he needed to come all the way here. One would imagine there are better things closer to Lannisport.”

Brienne exchanged a look with Sansa over Catelyn’s head. She knew from a glance that Sansa was dying to tell her mother about what had happened, whether or not it was an ill-advised idea. But, she couldn’t ask Sansa to lie to Catelyn, and, history there might be between herself and Catelyn, Brienne thought she could stand to hear her stepmother’s opinion on it all.

Brienne nodded.

Sansa shot her a grateful look and turned back to her mother. “There’s much we have to talk about,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Sorry about this chapter, I feel like not much really happened, back to our regularly-scheduled intrigue in Chapter 14! Thanks for reading as always!   
> -B


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Winterfell, Brienne overhears a strange conversation and the team visits the old castle.

Brienne left Sansa’s room late after hours of telling and retelling all that had befallen them during their time in Lannisport to Catelyn, then Bran, then Selwyn, after they’d eaten— a painfully awkward, evening meal with the Lannisters. Catelyn and Selwyn were far quicker to believe the story than Brienne expected them to be, both of them cursing the Lannisters for always being up to no good, and scolding their daughters for staying involved in such nonsense.

Nevertheless, they seemed to like Tyrion well enough to allow him run of their library for a few days to research what might be the cause.

“Just because it’s not Tyrion doesn’t mean there aren’t a hoard of others like his father who’d put innocents in harm’s way,” Selwyn grumbled, trying and failing to extract a promise from her to not go near the ruins ever again. He had settled for a promise that she would call him every day and inform him that she was all right.

After, when their parents had turned in, and they were left alone, Brienne told Arya and Sansa about the vision she had of the other Brienne. She felt a bit bad about telling the story without Jaime knowing about it beforehand, but she was growing more and more concerned that not telling them would drive her properly crazy. Provided she wasn’t _already_ properly crazy.

Sansa hovered somewhere between giggles and horror during her story, while Arya took to peppering her with wildly inappropriate questions that well outpaced Jaime’s.

“I simply don’t understand how one spell does all this, it’s simply too much.” Sansa had lamented, having taken to comforting Brienne, fingers smoothing her hair back as she tried to tame it into one of her fancy braids.

“Well, at least we know the other Brienne isn’t dead,” Arya said matter-of-factly. “If Jaime can have visions set ages and ages before we knew him to be alive.”

Brienne hadn’t quite put the two together among the various considerations. But the argument cheered herconsiderably. “Well, that’s a relief.”

Arya had argued that she shouldn’t feel worried for the other Brienne because, it was probably some trick, and even if it wasn’t, Lady Brienne was stupid enough to marry a Lannister.

“Oh, I don’t know Arya,” Sansa had begun mildly. “Brienne and Brienne would probably relate to each other on that front.”

After chastising them for not helping in the slightest, Brienne bid them goodnight; accepting kisses and reassurances as she went, their teasing mostly forgotten. She made her way back down the grand staircase and into the narrow hallway that led to her room and Bran’s across the hall. The bathroom at the end of the hallway that adjoined to her room and Bran’s through two internal doors was also accessible from the hall. Brienne often wondered why the Starks had bothered moving out of a castle if their new home was to be just as confusing.

Regardless, she slipped into the bathroom first and ran the shower hot enough that it hurt against her skin and turned it a violent and unpleasant shade of pink. Still, between the hot water and soap, she felt as though the long drive, and horrible, small car washed away with the water spiraling the drain, leaving her with just the exhaustion the trip had given her.

She stepped out of the shower and dried off in a hurry, trying to avoid the omnipresent chill in the house that refused to relent even in the warmest weather. The dressing gown she’d left hung on the door the last time she was here, nearly eight months prior, now, was still on its hook. She shrugged it over her shoulders and wrapped it around her, as she belted it around her waist, she used her elbow to turn the doorknob and her shoulder to push the door to her room open.

“Ah, Brienne, I wasn’t expected you to come from the… closet? What is that?”

Brienne yanked the sash around her waist painfully tight in surprise. “What the _fuck,_ Tyrion?”

“My brother and I were just passing the time, wondering what the Starks had locked themselves away to discuss all evening.”

Brienne rounded the corner into the main part of her room to see Jaime sitting on the edge of her bed, before Tyrion, his chair pushed off against the wall near the main door. “Weren’t you given other rooms to do that in?”

Tyrion sighed, gesturing to Jaime in exasperation. “Yes, but, unfortunately, Jaime can’t walk up the stairs today, the car ride was too hard on him.”

Brienne’s irritation flagged. “That’s not his fault,”

“Indeed. Well, if you get dressed, I’m sure we can get started on a solution.”

Brienne gave him another long look before moving to take some undergarments and sleep clothes from the chest of drawers at the bottom of her bed. “No need, you go to your room, Jaime can stay here. I’m going to change in the bathroom and if you’re still here when I get back, you’ll regret it.”

She retreated to the bathroom and slammed the door behind her, instantly wincing at the noise and hoping that it hadn’t woken Bran.

_“So, getting quite serious, is it? How many nights were you up in her apartment last week?” Tyrion asked, loudly enough that she could hear him through the door, and had to fight off the urge to bang her head against it in frustration. “Things are bad, Jaime, you don’t need me to tell you that, I’m worried for you. Cersei would…”_

“ _We’ve spoken, Tyrion. Nothing’s going to happen.”_

Brienne frowned, suddenly frozen in place, she was relieved it didn’t seem they were talking about her for once. But, the more important thing seemed serious, and something she certainly shouldn’t overhear. Nevertheless, she couldn’t _stop_ listening.

_“She would ask more terrible things of you if Father continues with this, and you know it. No matter how high a price you paid to be free of it. She would get you to continue and—“_

_“Tyrion, enough.”_

_“You’d tell me if she did, wouldn’t you? I don’t want to Starks messed up in this, or Pod, or Brienne.”  
_

Brienne’s hand closed over the doorknob, wondering if she should go back in and demand an explanation, but Jaime’s voice forestalled her.

“ _I would never let harm come to t-them, if you’re so concerned about Brienne, perhaps you should examine whatever it is you’re doing, don’t ask me to pretend I’ve not noticed how you’re acting.”_

Brienne shoved the door open again, well aware that she hadn’t changed her clothes. “Tyrion, why aren’t you gone yet?”

Tyrion narrowed his eyes at her. “Why haven’t you changed?”

“I have,” she lied. “They’re under the robe, now get out.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes and turned to leave. “Sleep well,”

When the door fell shut behind him, Brienne crossed her arms and stared down at Jaime.

“What the fuck’s going on, Jaime?”

In lieu of responding, Jaime slumped backwards onto the mattress, spreading his arms out at his side.

“Jaime!”

“Stuff with my sister, don’t get all panicked. You know what they say about the Lannisters… we’re all trouble. My sister is just trouble.”

“What does that have to do with my sisters, and Pod?”

Jaime shimmied up the bed a little and settled against her pillows. “Just come to bed, Brienne. Ser Jaime calls her ‘darling’, should I— is that a suitable replacement for ‘wench’ to you?”

Brienne snorted, glad the light was over near Jaime and not on her so the shadows probably hid how much she was blushing. “Absolutely not. Have you been drinking?”

Jaime yawned. “No, though I’m tired enough that I may as well have.”

“Get some sleep. I still have to change.” Brienne slipped through the door back into the bathroom. For a long while, she didn’t change. Instead, she stood before the sink and mirror, watching her hands tremble as they gripped the rim of the sink.

*

The day began like so many of the ones that summer had; with Tyrion banging on the door, shouting at them to get up at an hour early enough that Brienne questioned whether or not he’d ever even gone to sleep.

Though, today, it was so much worse. The knocking came at five-thirty in the morning when the sky outside the window was just barely tinged with the purplish-grey of the rising sun, for this far North, even in the middle of the year, they didn’t get long days. The room was so cold she may as well have slept outside, and after weeks of waking to the luxurious sunlight in Westerland, it was all the more unpleasant.

Jaime groaned, shouted for Tyrion to ‘just fuck off’, and rolled back over, dead to the world in an instant.

“Come on, Brienne, there’s much to be done.” Tyrion continued. “Leave my brother if he insists on such a layabout.”

Brienne slipped out of bed, wincing as her bare feet touched the freezing floorboards and opened the door a crack. “There’s something very wrong with you.”

“I trust my brother didn’t keep you up past your bedtime.”

“My bedtime was long past when I had to kick you out of my room, please come back in two hours and stop being gross.”

“Gross? Never, I know as well as you what a chatterbox he is.”

Brienne sneered at him. “No one’s feeling very talkative now that you seem to have forgotten the rest of us need sleep.”

Tyrion held up his hands. “Can you be ready to go by seven-thirty?”

Brienne shut the door in his face, not bothering with a response before turning and throwing herself back on the bed and tucking her face against her pillow. She was most of the way back to sleep before something moving over her drew her back to consciousness.

Jaime was attempting to throw the quilt back over her with limited success.

“Jaime, go to sleep.”

“You’ll freeze if you sleep like that,”

Brienne’s fingers closed slowly over the edge of the blanket as she drew it around her, a snappy response dying on her tongue. “Well, thanks.”

Jaime settled back against his pillows, facing the wall and leaving her to stare at his back until she fell back to sleep.

She woke again naturally at seven, with sunlight beginning to light the sky, now. She slipped out of bed and got a change of clothes from the chest of drawers. Her better clothes had been left either in King’s Landing, or Lannisport. Not that clothes ever seemed to fit her particularly well, but her clothes from when she was younger fit particularly poorly.

Back in her room, Tyrion had returned in her absence and was helping Jaime dress over his protestations that, he didn’t need any help, he’d been practicing doing up buttons with one hand.

“Morning,” Tyrion greeted her.

Brienne ignored him as she slipped on her shoes and shrugged her jacket over her shoulders. He didn’t try to make more conversation as she fixed her hair in the mirror and tied it back in a ponytail. So, without another word, she slipped from the room and made her way down the narrow hallway to the large entryway.

Pod and Arya were laying on the bench above where the shoes were stored, their legs tangled together and heads hanging off opposite sides to accommodate both of them lying there. Sansa was sitting on the grand staircase, head leaning against the bannister with her eyes closed.

She glanced up when Brienne stepped into the hallway. “Morning.”

Brienne joined her on the stairs, reclining against the steps behind her even though they dug painfully into her spine. She was tired enough that she felt nauseous and the chilly air sending shivers through her did little to settle her. “I hate him so much.”

“Who?” Arya mumbled. “Tyrion? Did he also wake you with a lot of yelling far too early?”

Brienne mumbled her agreement, sure that the words she was actually saying didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

Before Arya could respond, or any of them could mock her not making sense, Tyrion came in, struggling to push Jaime’s chair ahead of him.

“Brienne, would you—?” He cut off, nodding to the chair before stepping out from behind it.

Brienne used the railing to pull herself up and moved towards Jaime, trying valiantly to not drag her feet as she went.

“Good morning, Brienne,” Jaime said, tone mocking Tyrion’s unusually energetic one. “I like your sweater.”

Brienne felt herself frown. “Not today, Lannister.”

Jaime sucked in a breath, like a wordless remark of indignation at her mood, his eyes pressed shut. “Gods—“

“So,” Tyrion clapped his hand against the bannister, sending an echo through the hall that Brienne prayed didn’t wake her father and Catelyn. “Shall we get going?”

Pod and Arya grumbled as they untangled themselves and clambered to their feet.

“You know, I’m basically not involved in this, I could just go back to bed.” Arya pointed out. “I’m only here so Cersei and Mister Lannister don’t eat me in your absences.”

“Then go,” Tyrion said like it was a dare. “You don’t have to help us find a secret, ancient spell if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to. I’m just trying to point out that the timing is unfair.”

“How?” Pod chimed in.

Sansa cleared her throat loudly. “Can we _please_ get moving before all your bickering wakes up my parents and inconveniences them further?”

It was quite rare for Sansa to refer to Selwyn as one of her parents, which did not go unnoticed by Brienne. But, she tried not to think of it and moved towards the door.

Podrick held it open for her and Jaime, and then the others who refused to let him stop holding it when he tried.

Brienne made for the car, but Tyrion made a hesitant noise, stopping her halfway down the drive. “We’ll just walk, Brienne, no use taking apart the wheelchair again.”

She might’ve groaned at the idea of walking all that way in the cold, but the slight sag in Jaime’s shoulders at his words worried her. She should hate for him to feel like it was his fault, and not his somewhat tyrannical brother.

“Oh, come on, Jaime!” Arya called out. “You’re the worst!”

“She’s kidding,” Brienne said quickly.

“Oh, come on, I’m kidding,” Arya called moments after, though she could not have heard Brienne say it. “Come on! We can walk on the Godswood trail, Bran can do it in his chair so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

The Godswood Trail was not much of a walk in the woods, boards had been put in forming a path from an entry point beyond the Stark home up to the old castle. Boards were used instead of dirt to preserve the foliage and soil from the many tourists who came traipsing through, particularly during the snowy months to see the old Weirwood trees. But, the Trail was quite beautiful, huge old trees with full green leaves formed a canopy over them, and every so often, they would come across the larger still snowy-white trunks and vibrant red leaves of a weirwood. They were so large that no trees or foliage grew in a wide radius beneath them, and that ground was misshapen and heaving with the trees’ ancient roots.

Jaime let out a low whistle. “They’re bigger than those in any Godswood I’ve ever seen.”

“They’re the oldest,” Brienne supplied. “Bran always talked about how he wished he could climb up one to see the world from its top when we were young,”

Jaime shook his head. “Isn’t that immoral?”

“If he somehow was able to climb up that tree, I don’t think anyone would have it in them to stop him.”

Jaime considered it for a moment. “What happened to him?”

Sansa cast him a sharp look, opening her mouth to retort with something before Brienne shook her head behind Jaime’s back.

“The King sent assassins after our family during the Dornish Rebellion after Father tried to tell him not to have the war. Everyone said he was a traitor.” Arya chimed in, her voice flat and matter of fact. “But, he was right, Baratheon destroyed the country with a five-year war no one won or gained anything from.”

Brienne’s hand shifted from the handle of the chair to brush over Jaime’s shoulder for a moment, his words from the bay echoing in her head. _Minister Aerys was solely responsible for the Dornish War, solely responsible for the death of Ned Stark, the destruction of Tarth and Sunspear._

At Sansa’s odd look, she returned her hand to the handle and wondered briefly how she’d gotten so accustomed to keeping secrets from them. _Especially this one,_ Brienne thought, _how can I not tell them?_

Some other part of her argued the other just as passionately.

“Anyways,” Arya was continuing. “Mother, Sansa, and I were in a safe house in Westerland after it all happened. The Crown’s assassins caught Father, Bran, and my other brothers trying to join us, they shot all of them, but only Bran managed to survive.”

“Enough, Arya, you’re upsetting people,” Sansa said tightly. “Can we not just get through the day?”

Arya scuffed her foot against the rough boardwalk. “He asked what happened, besides, he should know the kind of people his family aligns themselves with,”

Tyrion looked impressed rather than outraged, and burst out laughing.“She has a point there, Sansa. Though my family has never been known for such virtues, Arya.”

_What then are you known for?_ Brienne wondered. _And what is your family doing?_ She resolved to at least tell the Starks what she’d overheard the Lannisters arguing about the previous evening. If she couldn’t tell them about Jaime and Aerys, she might as well tell them they were implicated in something else.

She hung back a bit with Jaime as the others skirted around them and went ahead.

“I’m used to it,” Jaime said, forestalling whatever she was going to say and hadn’t yet thought of.

“Still, I’m sorry.”

“I know, wench.”

“My name—“

Jaime waved her off. “I offered you an alternative last night, you didn’t seem very interested.”

“Still, the truce. You’re not allowed.”

The library at Winterfell was an unsettling place, dark wood with impossibly high shelves reaching towards the ceiling so far she could barely see the tops. Unlike Casterly Rock, there was little in way of seating and work areas, and there was no electric lighting, leaving them to explore with battery-powered torches whose light seemed to be easily swallowed by the cavernous room.

They stood in the entrance for a while, too long really, Arya and Sansa arguing about where the shelves were specifically. Tyrion consulted a research guide that would help them find it, but seemed to be having trouble navigating it. So much so, that Brienne took the guide from him and skimmed through it quickly.

Tyrion made an indignant noise. “I was going to get it.”

Brienne scoffed. “Yes, three hours from now because you were reading every word, it’s at the end shelf thirteen.”

Walking through the library was even more unsettling, it was well kept up, for sure, but such a large space that not even it being well-lived in banished the creatures living beneath the shelves that scattered and scratched across the floor at the sound of their footsteps. Being here so early in the morning, before anyone else arrived to work for the day certainly didn’t help. The floorboard creaked and groaned under their feet, sometimes a board gave so much under her foot that she feared she would fall straight through the floor into the cellars of Winterfell.

When Tyrion kindly mentioned that Winterfell’s crypts were actually located beneath them, it didn’t quite make the feeling better.

The section they were looking for was nondescript and entirely un-magical in appearance. The books were a bit dustier than most of the other sections they’d passed by but otherwise looked to be just more shelves of thick volumes bound in dark leather. The section was only fifteen shelves high before being replaced by some books about religion for the remaining levels that stretched impossibly high.

Arya and Podrick used sliding ladders to start from the top of the shelves, Tyrion and Jaime started from the bottom and Brienne and Sansa from the middle.

And it took ages. Ages of flipping through pages browned and hardened from time, with dust between most of the pages kicking up into her eyes and nose when she jostled the book. Ages of trying to ignore the stinging that caused and keep reading, comparing with Tyrion’s list of keywords. Ages of it being made all the more difficult by the fact that much of the writing was in a completely different language. Valyrian, she thought, but, it being a mostly dead language, and her knowing absolutely nothing about it, she couldn’t quite tell.

They were there for so long that caretakers began to enter and roam the aisles, other researchers came and moved about the library with their own torches, always looking askance at the six of them piled up oddly in the narrow space between two shelves.

They were there so long that Tyrion took to sitting on Jaime’s legs at one point to get a break from standing with his shoulders hunched over a book.

It was Pod who eventually found the book on the eleventh shelf up. He nearly fell off the ladder in his haste to get down and show it to the others. It was buried deep in some record of spells relating to the worshippers of the Red God, four-hundred pages in. But there it was, a brief description of Melisandre, a priestess of the Red God, hired by Queen Joanna to cast a spell to change the past. It wasn’t exactly a revelation, they’d been able to surmise as much from overhearing the Lannisters’ meeting.

Still, Sansa gasped in surprise reading it.

There was no description of how, or what exactly the spell did, though the words of it were written out of the following page— in Valyrian, completely incomprehensible to all of them.

Tyrion cursed and slammed his hand against the shelf.

When he’d recovered himself, he insisted that they take the book with them in the protective bag he’d brought with him just in case. And, when the security guard tried to stop them, Sansa just showed him her drivers’ license with the Stark name on it and hurried the others out the door.

“What the hell are we going to do with it now?” She snapped after the door banged shut behind them, leaving them in some claustrophobic side-corridor.

“Pod, go steal another book about learning Valyrian,” Tyrion ordered, and Pod almost turned to obey.

Sansa caught him by the back of the jacket and pulled him around.

“Absolutely not.”

*

The second night in Winterfell, Catelyn insisted on having a dinner for the Lannisters to compensate for being unprepared for guests the first evening. Sansa and Arya had been unsuccessful in talking her out of it.

So, upon their return from the castle, Brienne, Podrick and the Starks all obliged her in dressing nicely for dinner. The Lannisters didn’t seem to need to, their customary style of dressing was already rather formal, in Jaime’s, and too eclectic to tell in Tyrion’s.

When Brienne re-emerged from her room, Catelyn and Selwyn were working to set out the nice dishes in the nicer dining area. Jon, the Stark’s cousin was sitting in the front room with Bran, playing with the dogs. She hadn’t realized he was in town.

“Brienne! How’s it going?” He called out.

Brienne grinned. “Not so bad, how’s Eastwatch been? Are you visiting your mom?”

Jon responded, that yes, Eastwatch was fine, and yes, he was coming to help his mother move into a new house, though the latter half of his answer was lost to the arrival of the Lannisters.

“Who the hells is that?” Jaime whispered, he and Tyrion were a bit behind her, Jaime in his chair and Tyrion struggling to push him. “I didn’t realize there was another one of them.”

“Jon Stark,” Jon introduced himself pointedly, not bothering to rise from his position sitting with the dogs. “Sansa and Arya’s cousin, you must be Jaime. Good to see you again, Tyrion.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jaime demanded, as Brienne took the wheelchair from Tyrion and rolled him away with an apologetic look at Jon. “‘ _You must be Jaime’”_

_“_ Could mean any number of things, you’re that famous, or infamous, really, _or_ you’re conspicuous with the chair and no hand. But, most likely, Sansa told him you were kind of a dick. You should really be nicer to people you just met,”

Jaime scoffed.

“I take it that your call to Cersei didn’t go very well?”

“Not in the slightest, everything is still a disaster.”

Brienne nodded and busied herself with moving the dining chair out of the way so that Jaime’s chair could be rolled to the table instead whilst her brain failed to come up with a response to that. She was deeply concerned still with whatever was happening between the Lannisters but was drawing a complete blank on how to approach the subject without prying.

But, Tyrion, Sansa, and Arya waltzed in and saved her— or rather, stopped her, from having the conversation.

“Oh, Jaime, I’m sorry, Mother’s not used to setting aside chairs for anyone but Bran,” Sansa said, her attempt at being sweet to him was quite surprising. She seemed to pick up on it from Arya and Brienne’s shared look of confusion. “Oh stop it, Arya.”

Brienne settled between Jaime and Arya, near the middle of the table, leaving the ends open for Selwyn and Catelyn. And after a short while, they were joined by Jon and Podrick with Bran. No one moved, or spoke beyond a brief, stilted discussion about some decision the King had issued the previous day, or something, until Catelyn and Selwyn entered and assumed their places at the end of the table, with timing so synchronized Brienne began to wonder if it were some sort of show for the Lannisters.

Of course, once upon a time her father and Catelyn had both been prominent in the political world, so they would know. Then, she began to wonder if overhearing Tyrion’s conversation with Jaime had not made her one hundred times more paranoid, for it was an insane thing to think.

The table was quiet but for the clinking of silverware on serving dishes and quiet questions to ‘pass this’ or ‘hand me that’ for a few moments as everyone served themselves food and waited for Catelyn to begin eating.

Silently, Brienne reached over and took Jaime’s plate from him, cutting the meat and vegetables into small pieces that would easy to get with a fork. She had done it often enough that his surprised expression was unwarranted.

“What?” She muttered. “Do you want something else done?”

Jaime shook his head as if to clear it. “No, it’s nothing. Thank you.”

Brienne was going to press the issue but clocked her father giving Jaime a deeply suspicious look over the top of his wineglass. At some point, she figured, she should probably explain to him that they’d become friends and he needn’t look so resentful all the time.

She returned Jaime’s plate to its spot in front of him, and her attention to the matter on hand, which seemed to be Catelyn asking about their day at the castle.

“It was well enough, Mother. We found what we were searching for, but the old text seems to be in Old Valyrian, so it’s shaping up to be a challenge to read.”

Jon cleared his throat. “My roommate studied Valyrian in university, he’s nearly fluent, perhaps he could take a crack at it.”

“Who’s this dear?” Catelyn asked kindly. “I didn’t realize you had roommates.”

“I’ve a few actually, rents gotten steep even all the way up there. But, this guy, Sam Tarly, he’s a genius. I could ring him tonight and see if he has time to see you tomorrow.”

“How far’s Eastwatch?” Selwyn asked. “Four, five, hours from here?”

Jon nodded. “Usually four, there’s never much traffic.”

Tyrion perked up at the mention. “Brienne, Sansa, perhaps you can go tomorrow to meet with him.”

“Well, I thought I might ask—“ Jon began sounding a bit uncomfortable.

Tyrion waved him aside. “No time for that, Stark.”

Jon narrowed his eyes. “What is this project, again?”

A palpably awkward silence fell over the table, everyone present in the know but for Jon.

“A history project on the Great War,” Tyrion said too casually to follow such an uncomfortable silence. “Time is of the essence with these things you know, history is always changing.”

Jon frowned.

“A joke,” Tyrion supplied. “Time is more of the essence because the university wants to know where I’m spending their money.”

The Starks laughed politely at that, though it was beyond clear that none of them were comfortable with the direction of the conversation. Likely Catelyn and Selwyn worried they couldn’t keep a secret, which Brienne shared, and seemingly so did her siblings.

“I’ll go too,” Jaime told Tyrion, and then continued off his brother’s suspicious look. “What? I have plenty of questions that need answering? More than you I’d wager.”

“Are you a professor as well, Jaime?” Catelyn asked, pointedly, knowing damn well he wasn’t.

“No, not at all. I help my father run the estate and his business ventures, but I must say I’m deeply invested in my younger brother’s work.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “I’m sure Brienne could call with information if she gets any, but, if you insist.”

Jaime shot Brienne a wide grin, which she tried to return, but the prospect of _actually_ finding out what was in that document made her so nervous she was sure it was a grimace.

“No, no,” Jaime dismissed. “I intend to be there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm not sure when the next chapter will happen because I'm moving this weekend but hopefully still on Monday!  
> -B


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime, Brienne, and Sansa pay a visit to Eastwatch.

_Outside, the sound of waves crashing against the rocks below ran as an undercurrent to the clashing of swords in the practice yard, and the chatter of people working around the household; horses whinnying and people calling out to each other in greeting, scolding, or demanding._

_The windows were flung open, and a gentle breeze pushed at the curtains, above her head, the bed’s canopy rustled and whispered in the wind. It was pleasantly warm, and the breeze ensured she wasn’t stifled beneath the blankets piled on top of her._

_But, she was terribly bored. Every clang of sword against sword sent a spike of irritation through her, it was not so much a mark of a lively, cheerful household but an unending litany of taunts at her for having to lie about yet another day._

_Lady Brienne rolled onto her side, pressing her cheek a little further into her pillow, and Brienne caught a glimpse of the wall, the white stone that made it, smooth and swirled with grey and brown streaks. Evenfall Hall_ , _Brienne would have known it anywhere, if she could think hard enough, she was sure she could even pinpoint who the room had belonged to when she was a child. And if she could have cried at the sight of it, she didn’t doubt she would do that as well._

_Lady Brienne did not stay in her new spot very long before she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and pulled herself upright, hanging onto the bedpost until she was steady on her feet. Her legs were shaking slightly under her weight as she moved across the room to the window._

_Below, the town of Evenfall was spread out, dozens of brown, tiled and thatched roofs lit up in the afternoon sun, all the way down to the docks and vibrant sea beyond. In the yard, young boys were lined up, running drills with tourney swords as the Master at Arms called out orders to them._

_Lady Brienne sighed deeply and turned from the window to go towards a chair near the fireplace and sank into it. The hearth wasn’t lit so early in the day, and out of her blankets, she was a bit cold. She cast about for a blanket on the nearby chairs, pausing at footsteps in the corridor beyond her room._

_The door pushed open and Jaime— Ser Jaime hurried inside seemingly mid-sentence, though she’d completely missed what he said, he glanced first at the bed and then to her with an exasperated look._

_“Brienne!”_

_“Sitting here is hardly different than sitting in bed.” Lady Brienne said immediately, forestalling whatever else he was going to say._

_Jaime took a coverlet from the end of the bed and brought it to her. “Well, it’s not warmer. The maester s—“_

“ _Oh, I know what he says,” Lady Brienne snapped, crossly. “I’ve heard of little else for eleven moons’ turns.”_

_Ser Jaime kissed her forehead. “Only five more days, darling, remember?”_

_Lady Brienne leaned her head against his side and pressed her eyes shut. “Gods, I’m so tired of this,”_

_Ser Jaime dropped to one knee beside her, arm going around her shoulders as though he was going to pick her up. “Do you want to lie back down?”_

_Lady Brienne shrugged him aside, shaking her head. “No, no, they’ll bring Arianne soon enough, I’d like to actually be awake this time.”_

_Ser Jaime stilled, casting a hesitant glance at her. “They’ve already come for the afternoon, but you’d dozed off. Her nurse has already put her down to rest.”_

Oh, _Brienne thought;_ gods, Jaime is going to lose his mind.

_“Jaime!”_

_“I tried, I was overruled.”_

_Lady Brienne buried her face against his shoulder, and didn’t push him away when his arms wrapped around her shoulder. “She’ll not even know who I am once I can get out of here.”_

_Ser Jaime drew her closer, his face pressing against her neck. When he spoke, his words tickled against the exposed skin. “There’s been a letter, from my father.”_

_Brienne could tell the thought scared Lady Brienne, her whole body tensed at his words. “What is it now?”_

_“We’ve been summoned to Storm’s End,”_

_Lady Brienne relaxed again with a long exhale that was more pained than relieved.“When will you go?”_

_“Not for a few moons yet, when you’re well enough to travel. Father says you’re to come to, and the children, if they can.”_

_Lady Brienne frowned. “We’ve barely been on Tarth since the war, tell him we can’t.”_

_Ser Jaime laughed, his hands running over her back. “Would that I could,”_

_“I’ll not be gone long, tell him we have to be back after a week.” Lady Brienne insisted, drawing away to look him in the eye until he caved and nodded his acquiescence. It didn’t take very long to Brienne’s surprise. He nodded and his hand went to her cheek, thumb moving across it a few times. Brienne longed to look away from his gaze, somehow searing and soft at once, but Lady Brienne just returned it._

_“You should get back to bed, how about when you’re settled, I’ll go get Arianne from the nursery and bring her for a visit if you’re not too tired.”_

_Lady Brienne’s hand closed over his forearm and Brienne could feel her forcing her eyes not to droop with the exhaustion she felt. “That sounds good.”_

_Ser Jaime slipped one arm around the middle of her back and one under her knees, lifting her with ease that surprised Brienne, Lady Brienne was no shorter than she was and looked decidedly less emaciated than in her dream of Acorn Hall, but he moved easily across the room and lowered her onto the mattress. Brienne thought of how often she carried ‘her’ Jaime around in a similar manner, which was painfully ironic—_ he’ll laugh when I tell him that, _she thought._

_“Shouldn’t I practice walking at least?” Lady Brienne said though she seemed to be joking. “It’s like the maester wants to make sure I’m in the room forever.”_

_Ser Jaime wrapped his arms around her neck again, drawing her closer and when Lady Brienne closed her eyes and leaned closer the scene fell away._

_Brienne wasn’t afraid at first;_ I’ll wake up at home, _she thought._

_Only, she didn’t._

_Everything was dark, icy cold rushing from every direction, like a wave crashing over her. Only she wasn’t in water, she wasn’t anywhere distinct. She couldn’t quite tell what that was, or if she was mistaken, because there was a flash of greenish-light, wavering like she was seeing it through water as it blazed hot. She wasn’t sure if she was surrounded by complete and utter silence, or a dozen voice crying out:_ “Brienne!”

_Whatever it was hurt, every inch of her skin, every nerve in her body lit up in agony, weightless in the dark as she was._

_She screamed but the dark ate the sound easily._

Then, she was moving, something had a hold on her shoulders and she was back in her room in Winterfell. It was cold, but not freezing and agonizing. The tension seeped from her as the pain from her dream fell away and consciousness took over.

“Jaime?”

A hand tightened on her arm. “Yeah, it’s all right, it was a dream.”

Brienne nodded, reaching around the arm Jaime had over her to wipe at the tears forming in the corner of her eyes.

“Was it about Tarth again?”

Brienne shrugged, too groggy and confused to even begin explaining. “I don’t know, maybe, it was confusing, I’ll,” She paused for a long moment before adding “…tell you later.”

Jaime nodded, hiding a yawn behind his arm. She moved out from underneath his arm, inching her legs closer to the edge of the bed. Jaime’s hand caught her wrist before she could sit up properly.

“Are you getting up?”

Brienne shrugged. “I usually can’t sleep after these kinds of dreams, I don’t want to keep you up.”

Jaime pulled on her arm until she relented and sank back against the pillow.

“You just have to get some rest, Brienne,” He settled against her back, his chest pressing against her shoulder blades and his right arm snaking around her waist. Brienne tried not to move, or gasp, or reveal in any way the way her stomach clenched and flipped with her skipping heartbeat, half asleep as she was.

“My mother would always tell me when I was scared in the night, that sometimes you need someone to help you fight off the bad thoughts. Now, given the situation on hand, I don’t really think I’m that powerful,”

_You might be,_ Brienne thought to herself.

“ _But,_ could I interest you in embarrassing stories about Tyrion as a child instead?’

Brienne turned to look at Jaime, half propped up on his left elbow to see her face over her shoulder. The right thing to do, the non-transparent thing to do would be to brush him off, get up, and stop acting desperate. But she was sleepy, and scared, and already half-wished she was still living inside Lady Brienne, so she closed her hand over the end of his arm and allowed the tension and fight to seep out of her shoulders.

“Well now, I can’t miss an opportunity to learn blackmail material about my boss.”

Jaime laughed, and pressed a kiss to the spot between her cheekbone and temple, just below her eye before launching into a story about Tyrion that Brienne barely heard over her own racing thoughts.

*

It was decided that Sansa would drive. A decision that scarcely lasted them out of Wintertown before she and Brienne switched seats. Sansa was not good at driving at the best of times and kept jerking the steering wheel around whenever something from Brienne’s recounted dream surprised her. Between her and Jaime’s bickering over who was interrupting the story most, and who wanted to hear about it more, it took Brienne nearly the entire first hour to recount the whole thing. And, when she’d finished, for all their interruptions, neither of them said a word for a long while.

Finally, Sansa sighed. “They’re so romantic, it’s adorable. Don’t you think?”

Brienne gave her a long look out of the corner of her eyes before returning them to the road before her. “ _No.”_

Jaime was leaning on the back of the front bench, looking at Sansa with similar alarm. “That would be… weird.”

Sansa put her hands up defensively. “Okay, okay, sorry.”

And it was all but forgotten, she and Jaime began discussing her dissertation and Brienne forgot to listen among trying to watch the road while unable to stop ruminating about the previous evening and worrying about the dream.

The road north was nearly deserted, they only passed other cars every few miles. The road was one lane and wove through the pine-covered hills that last between Winterfell and the next larger town, Last Hearth. For a time, they drove alongside the White Knife, a wide, rushing river that the road always tended too close to for Brienne’s comfort. For the road, while paved properly, was cracked and heaved from the volatile temperatures, and was crumbling near its edge.

“Brienne?”

She glanced over at Sansa in the passenger’s seat, staring at her in concern.

“Yes?”

“What’s the matter with you? You weren’t answering me.”

Brienne’s eyes flickered to the rearview mirror; Jaime had fallen asleep, head tipped back towards the ceiling in the backseat. “Nothing’s the matter, I was just spacing out.”

Sansa frowned, hands folding her lap as she drew in a breath as though about to say something important. “Brienne, come on, you can trust me,”

Truly, she hadn’t been thinking of concerns. Not that they didn’t exist, but they weren’t really troubling her. She choked on a response, half laughing as she told Sansa so. “Really, I wasn’t worrying.”

“We’ve barely talked in _months,_ and everything’s changed for you, don’t tell me it doesn’t bother you, it must.”

Brienne shrugged. “It’s starting to seem normal, that’s the weirder part.”

Sansa’s frown deepened. “I know we— my siblings and I weren’t always the best to you but—“

Brienne flinched. Sansa _never_ talked about this, never talked about the first few years, and understandably so. “Sansa, you don’t have to.”

“No, really, we were young and stupid, and I don’t want you to think that you can’t rely on us because of what our parents did.”

“It’s not like I was a better sister, Sansa, really.”

“Maybe not, but you’ve had it worse than Arya and I for years, you and Bran. Mother and Selwyn were never good about being patient with you two, and no one else has been kind about it either.”

Brienne winced. “Well, it wasn’t always easy but I am,”

Sansa shook her head. “I think you think that you have to stand everything by yourself, that no one wants to help you, or listen, but that’s not true. Me, and Arya, and Podrick are here, and I’d wager that Jaime Lannister is too, so if you… need anything.”

Brienne moved one hand from the wheel to Sansa’s hand on the seat between them. “Thank you, Sansa, but I’m fine. Not that that will necessarily be the case once we find out what’s in that book.”

Sansa flipped her hand over and squeezed Brienne’s. “And _I’ll_ help you figure it out, okay?”

Brienne nodded. “Thank you,”

Sansa shook her head. “I love you,”

“I love you too.”

Sansa laughed. “Have I made you uncomfortable enough for one day or shall I keep going? There’s more I could say.”

“Oh gods, perhaps now is not the time.”

*

The address that Jon had given them was a large house of brick so dark it reminded Brienne of Harrenhal the second time she and Jaime were in the past. It was quite narrow but must have been five or six stories tall, at the end of the road it was on, the land gave way to a cliff, and beyond that was the Narrow Sea. Up this far north, the sea brought it countless storms and the waters appeared to be fighting each other even on a bright day, frothing deep blue and foaming white below.

Jon’s house was reinforced significantly with clumsy add-ons against the storms, the entryway was up a set of stairs so high it looked as though the door was on the second floor. The stairs creaked and bent under their feet so much that Brienne began to wonder at the integrity of the building.

Sansa made it to the top of the stairs before she and Jaime did and knocked urgently on the door. Her hair, long as it was, stood nearly on end in the driving wind no matter how hard she tried with her free hand to keep it pressed against her shoulder.

The door opened to reveal a man, _a bit older than herself,_ she thought, _but not much and a good deal shorter._ He wore a dark bathrobe and patterned pajama pants despite it being a bit after midday, a thick beard, and a suspicious expression as he looked Sansa up and down and then beyond her to Brienne supporting Jaime.

“Did you break down?”

Sansa frowned. “No, we’re here to—“

The man laughed. “Then we aren’t interested, people like you are never passing through here for any good reason, and I don’t want any part of it.”

“Sam Tarly!” Jaime blurted out before the door could close. “He lives here, doesn’t he? We’re friends of Jon’s, from Winterfell.”

The man hesitated with the door still half shut. “And what the fuck are you doing up in Eastwatch?”

“We need Sam’s help, please, it’s somewhat urgent. I think Jon called to tell him we were coming,” Brienne cut in before Jaime could start, something from the rather large draw of breath he’d taken in told her that whatever he was going to say wasn’t going to help their case in the slightest.

The other man sighed. “I’ll get him.”

And slammed the door in their faces.

They stood on the step for what seemed like twenty minutes, so long that Brienne was beginning to despair that Sam would refuse to see them, despite Jon’s assurances that he must be the friendliest person in Westeros. Sansa was shivering and intermittently trying to smooth her hair down, Jaime was hanging off the railing, staring down into the yard that seemed to be filled with scraps of old cars and machines, and various, sloppy piles of wood.

“Should we knock again?” Sansa began quietly. “It’s been ages and—“

The door swung open to reveal another man, about as tall as the other but much wider, wearing a sweater cheesy and ill-fitting enough to give Tyrion a run for his money, a wide smile on his face. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Sansa!”

Sansa drew back, but then after a moment extended her hand hesitantly to shake his. “You must be Sam,”

Sam nodded energetically. “The one and only. Jon told me you were coming, something about a translation? He seemed pretty shaken, apparently, _Tyrion Lannister_ was trying to tell him what to say.”

Jaime drew in a sharp breath, in a sympathetic sort of sound. “Sorry about him.”

Sam looked over at him curiously. “You must be his brother,”

Jaime grimaced and nodded. “Jaime, good to meet you. Brienne, could you…”

Brienne took his arm, holding him up as he walked across the landing towards the door.

“Car accident.” He explained, watching Sam’s expression turn from pleased to politely concerned at his stumbling about.

“Well, why don’t you come in?My office is on the first floor, so you won’t have to go much further.” He beckoned them inside.

The interior of the house was seemingly all dark wooden, sparsely decorated but densely populated with furniture. Every corner was filled with some chair, or bookshelf, or table, but no one seemed to be home. They navigated through the great room, dominated by a large fireplace, into a narrow hallway, also lined with various boxes, and this time, broken pieces of furniture and appliances. At its end, there was a door so short, Brienne had to stoop considerably to fit through it. But beyond was a cozy office, lit by another fire and soft, golden lamps. The walls were lined with books, and a thick, blue carpet covered the floor. The room was littered with a few armchairs and there was a long desk that took up the only wall with windows.

Sam turned around, gesturing outwards with his arms in introduction. “Well, this is me. Please, sit down, you must have had a long drive here this morning, when did you all get up?”

Brienne helped Jaime into one of the armchairs and took the bookshelf’s stepping stool for herself to sit on.

“Around six,” Sansa replied, drawing the book out of her bag and handing it to Sam. “Here’s the thing we need help with.”

Sam nodded and carefully removed the book from its protective bag, he laid the plastic covering over his legs before flicking through the pages.

“What is this project anyhow?” He wondered aloud as he scanned the page. “How is it that you all came to be looking at this?”

“Well, Brienne and I work with Tyrion, we’re his graduate students in King’s Landing. And Jaime is his brother who… has been helping out this summer while he recovers, it was something for him to do instead of sit around, reading.”

“And yet, that’s all I seem to be doing.” Jaime filled in wryly. “I didn’t realize history research was so boring, it seems more eventful in novels.”

Sam laughed. “You wouldn’t hear that from me. If it were up to me, I’d spend all day in here doing that sort of stuff. Is there a specific page you want translated, or passage, I see the descriptions are in the common tongue, but no one’s bothered to translate the spells.”

“Yes… that’s why we’re here.” Jaime supplied, as though the explanation should be unnecessary. “It’s on page seventy-four through seventy-six.”

Sam flicked backwards through the book and scanned it, nodding and mumbling to himself as he read the description and the text. As he kept going, his mumbling stopped and his face slackened with confusion.

As the silence stretched on and he looked more and more mystified, a knot tightened more and more in her stomach.

Jaime leaned over, his hand reaching out and closing over the one she had braced against her right knee. She tore her eyes away from Sam to look at him.

“What?”

Jaime shrugged. “You looked worried.”

Brienne offered him a small smile and turned her hand over to lace their fingers together on the off-chance that he was scared too.

“All right,” Sam started, jerking Brienne’s attention back to him. He set the book down, still open on the small coffee table beside him and looked up at them. “It’s a little complicated.”

Sansa already had a notebook ready and was making note of what he was saying. Brienne reached into her own bag for the tape recorder Tyrion had given her and held it out in a silent question to Sam. When he nodded, she switched it on and listened for the faint whirr of it starting up.

“Well, get on with it!” Jaime urged, his hand tightening more in hers.

“Well, the aim is to create a… doorway, I suppose would translate best, to the past. But it’s in a specific spot, so when the person— well people, that the spell is cast on, go there, the door opens.”

“How?” Sansa blurted.

Sam gave her a long look. “It’s ancient magic, it’s not like the people who are spelled receive a key when it happens.”

“People, plural?” Jaime asked, sounding baffled.

Sam nodded. “It’s like a puzzle, you have to have all the right pieces for the full picture, I think. Two people, and a place where the door is, each with a part of the magic inside them, when they’re all put together, a doorway opens.”

“I don’t understand, how, what, why, why would that even happen?” Sansa stammered. Brienne had rarely seen her at such a loss for words.

“The followers of R’hllor, like the priestess who cast this spell, Melisandre,” Sam indicated her name on the page. “Have reportedly many strange abilities, raising the dead, controlling the elements, it’s not so strange that they could manipulate… time. Or at the least try to, it says right here this spell had no impact.”

“Because the Westerlands still lost everything.”

“Or,” Sam began, his voice light. “They may still be waiting for their puzzle pieces, the spell says something like, ‘when the time is right’— it’s possible it isn’t yet.Though I wouldn’t tell Professor Lannister to hold on to hope for that, not even modern worshippers of R’hllor subscribe to this stuff and to everyone else, it’s been gone for centuries longer than that.”

“Oh, we won’t need to,” Sansa said dismissively. “He’s not hopeful for it.”

“Why does he want to know about it anyway?” Sam asked, setting the book back in its protective sleeve and settling back. “I’ve read his dissertation, it was leagues away from this sort of research.”

“A side project, really,” Brienne supplied. “You’d understand if you met him, he gets consumed by the strangest things and we stumbled across this doing other things.”

“Hopefully, we can get back to these things now that he has his answers,” Sansa remarked pointedly, making Sam laugh.

“Ah, yes, academics can be a bit funny like that, can’t they? Though I can’t really say I’d do any different.”

They forced laughs and thirty minutes more of conversation with Sam, telling him about their dissertations and other research for Tyrion.

It was excruciating, she wanted only to be back in the car, heading south, allowing Sansa to calm her down, and to talk to Jaime about how and when they could have ended up involved in some ancient spell. She scarcely wanted to speak about it with Tyrion, or Catelyn and her father, or her siblings and Podrick. But she wanted even less to speak about other things.

Finally, they were able to bid Sam goodbye, begging a long drive back to Winterfell and thanking him profusely for his time before fleeing down the stairs as fast as Jaime allowed. She helped him into the passenger seat and climbed into the driver’s seat, Sansa already slumped on the back bench with her head in her hands.

“I don’t understand!” She burst out, as soon as Brienne shut the car door behind her. “How could this have happened?”

Brienne just shook her head, staring at the dashboard in front of her with all the gauges pointing to zero. Her mind was blank of answers, but also blank of fear, she was just too confused by it all to form a response.

Jaime took the keys out of her pocketbook and pressed them into her hand. “Brienne, I understand there’s a lot going on, but its a tad suspicious to do this in front of Tarly’s house.”

*

Sansa fell asleep an hour into the drive, once her questions had subsided. Jaime was quiet but not sleeping leaning towards against the window and staring out of it. He’d scarcely said anything since Brienne and Sansa began to discuss what had happened.

Brienne drummed her fingers on the top of the steering wheel, stretching them out after clutching the wheel tightly in anxiety. Jaime glanced over.

“Do you want me to try driving?”

Brienne glanced from his one hand to the gearshift and shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, if you’re going to fall asleep and drive off the road, I’m worried.”

“So, keep me awake, tell me more stories about Tyrion.”

“That put you to _sleep_ last time,”

“Fine, then let’s talk about _it,”_ Brienne said pointedly. “I’d much rather talk to you about it than Sansa, we have more things to figure out.”

Jaime looked at her, gnawing on his bottom lip in consideration. “Maybe we should stop being in the same place, it might stop.”

“I don’t necessarily want it to stop,” Brienne admitted. “I’m a bit curious.”

“Brienne,” Jaime began, delicate, as though he didn’t believe a thing she was saying. “That might be, but you’re having trouble sleeping—“

“I’ve always had trouble sleeping, seriously, don’t worry about it.”

Jaime frowned and was quiet for a long moment, his eyes unreadable in the dusky light. When he spoke again, his question was almost too quiet to hear; “What happened? On Tarth?”

“The Dornish attacked, in the middle of the night, they landed outside the port and began killing people, burning the city, I didn’t see much of it.” Brienne began. “A guard, one of my fathers, snuck me out of the castle during the attack. I think some others tried with my mother, and my younger brother, Galladon, but they never made it down to the docks. My father and some of his men took me on a boat to get away, but, the boat was rigged, I guess because some gunpowder caught on fire and it exploded.”

Jaime let out a long breath. “Gods,”

“We were rescued by another boat of refugees and went as far away as we could, to a town near Lannisport, actually. We met the Starks, my father married Catelyn so she could prove she wasn’t a traitor like her first husband and could move on with someone respectable, and I could have a roof over my head.”

Jaime made several false starts but ended up just repeating himself. “ _Gods,”_

“Point being, it was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, and that’s what the dreams are always about. It doesn’t have to do with what happened to us.”

“All right, fine. When do you think it happened? That day in the cove?”

Brienne frowned and shook her head. “Obviously before, you barely spoke to me before the first time happened.”

Jaime took a breath through gritted teeth. “Sorry,”

She didn’t care anymore, besides, before the day in the cove, she had little patience for him herself. It stung a little to remember his various opinions on her, though not for a reason she would readily admit to him. How could she even? _Don’t be sorry because I’d only be upset about it because I know it means you’ll never want me the same way that…_ Well, it was stupid. And the most stupid thing for her to be thinking of at the moment.

“Then someone did it from within my father’s house?” Jaime guessed. “I wouldn’t be surprised, the place is huge and the walls are filled with tunnels, it’s an easy place to hide.”

“Or the time we were in Lannisport with everyone, on our second night here, with Cersei, anyone in the bar could have done it, and somehow known that we’d be going, if they knew about Tyrion’s study, it would make sense.”

“And it’s not hard to find out about Tyrion’s work?”

Brienne shook her head. “I doubt it, he's published in a shocking number of journals for only having his degree for three years.”

“Well, that would make the most sense. It having happened in public. And we were chosen largely at random.”

“If we were supposed to overpower the Targaryens and change the course of the war, not surprising that they chose the two strongest.”

Jaime glanced down at himself and laughed. “The others must look truly terrible.”

“They’d have had more luck choosing Arya,” Brienne agreed. “Are all the doors in the Rock?”

Jaime scoffed. “A question for another time, don’t you think? My brain is suffering enough at the thought of someone cursing me without my knowledge.”

“Guess I won’t mention _those_ dreams, then.”

He slumped forward until his head rested against the dashboard. “We are so far from figuring this out.”

“Which is why Tyrion will never hear about them,” Brienne suggested. “Sansa can hear of it, she won’t push us, Tyrion will never tire of this.”

He nodded. “I was just thinking he’d never be able to get over the idea of the other us kissing. He’s already on my case about, well, I suppose it’s not important.”

Brienne pulled on her lip with her front teeth, the memory of Tyrion and Jaime’s conversation in her room two nights before.

“Jaime?” She began and then hesitated when he looked over at her. “Is there something going on with your family that I should know about before we go back?”

He shook his head slowly and immediately contradicted it by explaining. “My sister and my father are fighting. I guess one would say my father also shares the past Lannisters ambitions of retaking power in Westerland, though less… political. And Cersei always follows him, until my father tried to use her. Suffice it to say, it’s never a nice revelation.”

“You would know?” Brienne guessed, hoping it wasn’t overstepping.

“A story for another time,” Jaime said, which probably meant she would never, ever get to hear what had happened. “You don’t need anything else to think about.”

Brienne didn’t question it. Her will was feeble enough to answer him when he asked about Tarth because he’d wanted to know. It was far more possible that, for all his gallantry, he didn’t care enough to want to tell her about it.

So, she changed the subject, blathering on awkwardly about the meeting with Sam, or the road in front of them, something funny Arya had told her the other day. She talked to fill the silence until she realized he wasn’t responding and she was acting _odd._ She rarely took issue with dead air, but _gods, was she nervous._

She forced herself to finish her sentence and fall quiet, turning her attention back to the road.

“Why’d you stop talking?” Jaime mumbled.

“What?”

“You were calming me down, come on, keep going, fair’s fair, Brienne.”

“Oh,” So, because he’d asked it, she kept trying to think of things to talk about, on and on until they reached the turn to Wintertown.

_Gods, help me._

All the lights were still on in the Stark home, despite the late hour, and Brienne had scarcely turned into the driveway when the door slammed open and Tyrion hurried out. She sank back in her seat, unmoving as Jaime got out and circled the car towards the house.

Tyrion reached them at the same time Jaime opened the driver’s side door and called out for her to come along. Tyrion was breathing hard, a strangely urgent expression, yet, she was too tired to be properly concerned by it, or see it as anything other than overexcitement.

“Jaime!” Tyrion called out.

Brienne unfolded herself from the seat and got out, walking Jaime back ward a bit so she could shut the door behind her. His hand caught the underside of her arm, as she turned away, supporting her though she wasn’t tired enough to need it.

She thought she must look pale, or my under-eyes are particularly bruise-like today.

Sansa was leaning on the roof of the car on its opposite side, trying to talk over Tyrion so that he would calm down and _just give them a minute,_ to no avail.

_“Jaime!”_ Tyrion repeated, more on edge, for what must have been the hundredth time since leaving the house. And, for the first time, it occurred to her to be concerned about it and a shiver ran through her.

“We have the recording, Tyrion. Can you shut up? It’s been quite a—“

“Jaime, Father’s dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, I've moved, I'm very tired, I hope this makes sense :)   
> See you next time!  
> -B


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime come to a conclusion. Cersei asks for Brienne's help.

ONE DAY LATER - LANNISPORT 

They were put under house arrest. 

The return to Casterly Rock had been a hasty one under the circumstances; so hurried that it wasn’t really debated whether or not they should accompany Tyrion and Jaime home— they just _did._ And immediately upon their return, they were shut away in their apartment by a very commanding older woman who introduced herself as Tywin’s sister-in-law, who was not at all ruffled by the fact that Cersei was clinging to her in tears. An image, Brienne thought, was one of the more disturbing elements of the whole thing. 

Tyrion had visited them in the afternoon with more of an explanation. The City Guard was sweeping the house for any evidence of foul play, though doctors had ruled out any possibilities. Apparently, his aunt insisted on an investigation, paranoid old bat that she was. But, given the amount of money on the line, he understood the impulse. 

“You’re not under suspicion of course,” Tyrion had said easily. “You weren’t even here when it happened. Jaime and I are though, I suppose things to gain and all that.” 

And he was gone, leaving them with yet another terrible problem on hand. At least, Sansa pointed out, he was blasé enough about it that he probably didn’t do it. 

Brienne tried to salvage the day to work on her thesis but only got through one page in the three hours she spent staring at it. Arya had disappeared into her room almost immediately and from the sounds of bickering, and intermittent shouting through the walls, Brienne assumed she’d somehow managed to sneak Gendry in there with her. 

Sansa called her mother and re-explained the situation and certainly withstood a significant amount of scolding about how they should have just stayed back in Winterfell. With the benefit of hindsight, it did seem the better option. Though, Brienne wondered her tolerance for strange and horrible things hadn’t been greatly expanded over the past weeks, as she was certain she should have hated to be back at her parents’ house for this. 

Eventually, she gave in to not being able to focus, closed her books, and made for her room. Not bothering to change her clothes or remove her shoes, she threw herself onto the top of the blankets and stared up at the ceiling for what must have been ages. It wasn’t as though she were thinking anything in particular, she was either thinking of nothing or having so many thoughts at the same time her brain couldn’t settle on one. 

Sansa appeared in the doorframe, a worried look pinching her features together. She didn’t ask permission before walking in and sitting beside her on the bed. “Do you think he did it?” 

Brienne propped herself up and returned her stare curiously. “Who? Tyrion? Impossible.” 

“No, Jaime.” 

Brienne frowned. “No again. He was also with us the whole time.”

Sansa chewed her lip. “He might’ve had help from his sister. And you know what he’s done in the past,” 

Brienne grimaced. “He didn’t do anything, Sansa, just because some old lady wants there to have been a murder doesn’t necessarily mean anything happened. The doctors say it was an aneurysm.” 

Sansa nodded. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, I’m just worried about you.” 

“Why? _I_ didn’t kill him.” Brienne grumbled, turning away. “You’re keeping yourself up for nothing.” 

Sansa laid back on the bed beside her, red hair fanning out around her, vibrant against the blue bedspread. She pressed her eyes shut and the heels of her hands against her forehead. "I haven't slept in days," 

Brienne laughed humorlessly. "I wouldn't think I've slept since we got here, but for the stupid dreams." 

"Well, it doesn't seem like we're going to be leaving very soon," Sansa remarked. 

Which turned out to be right, the house arrest lasted for two more days, and twenty-five more pages corrected of her thesis, at the end of which all of them were restless and anxious to go beyond their doors. Tyrion hadn’t visited again, but called up and told them to stay put just a little longer in a hushed tone made her wonder if the City Guard had even been informed of their presence in the first place. 

They had no reason to worry about being caught there, but they all a sort of paranoia that, though unmentioned, was ever-present. Arya and Podrick had taken to sleeping on the couches in the main room the past few nights like watchdogs in wait of intruders. 

Brienne had spent them wandering around her room, trying to listen to the sounds of the house or see a glimpse of what was going on outside, knowing all she would find was silence, the cliffs, and the sea, but moving about like some strange ghost all the same. She was always tired enough to sleep but never relaxed enough. Her chest felt hollow, always accompanied by a strange lump in her throat and feeling like she had to struggle to breathe. 

She wanted to leave the room, to keep working on the discoveries they’d made in Winterfell and Eastwatch, to talk about them with Tyrion, and Jaime. Gods, it was truly pathetic how much she missed seeing Jaime. Every time she laid down and attempted to sleep, she couldn’t stop thinking of sharing her room in Winterfell. And, though it was not something she could readily admit to herself, it was part of the insomnia and not a small one. 

On the third night, she finally fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, falling into a deep sleep before the sun faded from the sky, only to be awoken by the shrill _ring_ of the telephone, followed by Arya snapping at her to come and get it. The sky was dark but tinged with the beginnings of dawn out her east-facing window. 

Reluctantly, but suddenly very awake, Brienne slipped out of bed and hurried into the main room. Pod was looking at the telephone in terror, Arya was looking at it in her hand with disgust.

“It’s for you, Brienne.” 

She snatched up the receiver. “Tyrion, we were all asleep, I swear to—“ 

“It’s not Tyrion.” 

Arya gave her a nod that suggested she was thinking _I told you so,_ though she had said nothing in way of identifying the caller. 

“Well, Jaime, doesn’t change the fact that you’ve woken up Arya, and scared the wits off Pod, so I hope you have a good explanation for this.” 

“Come downstairs,” He said, his voice tense, saying plainly enough that whatever was going on downstairs was not good news. 

Arya wiggled her eyebrows at Brienne, undoubtedly hearing the request, sitting so close to the phone. 

Brienne cast a glance at the clock beside the phone. “It’s four in the morning, why can’t it wait?” 

“It… can wait, if that’s better for you.” 

Brienne tilted her head back to the ceiling, resigning herself to the fact that she wasn’t very likely to sleep without knowing what the hell was going on. “I’ll be right down.” 

She placed the phone back in its cradle and told Pod and Arya not to worry about it, there wasn’t any news yet. 

“Obviously,” Arya scoffed. “I wish you’d thought to arrange this before we all went to sleep, but if you need anything, check the drawer of my bedside table.” 

Podrick fell heavily against the cushions of his couch. “ _Arya,_ don’t say that _”_

_“_ Oh, just go back to bed, both of you.” 

*

Jaime was in the hallway when she stepped out of the stairwell, leaning against the wall. He was staring in her direction, the torch he held in his hand, lazily pointed at the wall across from him illuminated his face from the bottom hauntingly. But, he smiled and waved the light at her when he saw her emerge from the doorway.

“Gods, what’s happened?” Brienne hurried the rest of the way to him, hand going to the doorknob to enter his room. “What’s in there?” 

Jaime shook his head, dismissing the concern. His breathing was shallow and erratic, his eyes were wide and dark and very alarming despite his casual tone. “Nothing. You’re very frantic, calm down” 

Brienne released the doorknob and drew her sweater around her a little tighter around her. “What was I supposed to think? You’re in the hallway in the middle of the night and asked me down here.” 

Jaime looked sheepish. “I wasn’t thinking about that, I’m sorry.” 

Brienne narrowed her eyes, fingers digging into her side, bizarrely wondering if Arya had had a point. “W-what _were_ you thinking?” 

“I needed to talk to you, I’ve figured something out. But, we should go outside,” Jaime started towards the other end of the hallway, towards the great staircase. 

Brienne followed behind, forgetting her previous thought with a twinge of embarrassment at how disappointing that was. But, remembering well enough what he’d said the day they went to the cove, how there were always eyes and ears around the house, she didn’t question it. Though, if this was as serious as what he’d said on that day, any lingering fatigue she felt faded away to apprehension. 

They made their way down the stairs, she helped him down them, pleased to notice that he really did seem to be moving better down them. And he continued into the hallway into the large garden. Still, she was feeling more tense by the moment, the knot in her stomach pulling ever tighter as possible explanations for what was happening flitted around her mind, each more terrible than the last. 

In the dark, the plants and statues were blue and shadowy and much more imposing than they were in the daylight. A few of them made her jump, adding to the fear building inside her. But, Jaime didn’t stop walking until he reached the garden wall and passed through the doorway at the end of the path. 

“Where the hell are we going?” Brienne hissed. “Am I going to need to carry you back? I don’t mind but I’d rather know now if it’s that long of a walk.” 

Jaime looked over at her and jerked his head a bit in front of them, off the path leading around the house towards where the grass gave way to flat rocks and dropped off to the cliffs. “Just over there,” 

Brienne led the way over to rocks. Outside of the protection of the garden wall, the wind pulled at her hair and clothes and whistled in her ears. As they drew closer to the edge of the cliff and the short, dry grass gave way to a large, flat rock, the noise of the sea two hundred feet below was deafening. She settled on the edge of a larger rock that came up to her knee level and pulled her sweater closed around her again. 

Jaime didn’t join her, pacing instead back and forth across the expanse of flat rock, a little too close to the edge of the cliff for comfort. 

“Jaime! What’s going on? Tyrion told us this wasn’t a big deal, that your aunt was worried about his money, or…” 

“Tyrion’s an idiot. She’s right to worry. But that’s not it, I figured it out about the curse.” 

Brienne had too many questions and they all spilled out at once incoherently. “Wait, what? How? And you’re saying you think that someone killed your father?”

Jaime sat on the rock across from her and rested his forehead in his hands. “Yes, _yes,_ of course I think that. Tyrion has no idea what’s been going on here, forever, I guess, but it got more serious now once we were older and he left around then.” 

Brienne moved to sit beside him as he spoke and he stopped when she sat down. For a moment, whatever he said about the spell was pushed from her mind. “Well, what do you think happened?” 

Jaime started speaking and the conversation went _completely_ off the rails. “I don’t know, maybe my sister? Or anyone, he made a lot of enemies, it could be anyone. You know what they say about us, and most of it is probably true. I tried to stop him, both of them, but now this happened and we’re _fucked._ You should have to leave, Brienne, you and your siblings. I don’t care what Tyrion wants for your project, you can’t be involved in this.” 

He sounded out of breath, maybe close to tears or shouting, his voice tight with restraint. She put her hand between his shoulder blades, moving her thumb slowly over his back, catching on the material of his jacket. 

“Jaime, you’re not making sense, maybe we should go back inside, get you back to bed.” 

Jaime shook his head. “You’re not listening, Brienne, you have to listen.” 

Her hand slid from his back, around his shoulder, drawing him closer until his head leaned in the crook of her neck. “All right,” 

He was quiet for a few moments, clearly trying to gather himself together. “Sorry, gods, I’m sorry,” 

She growing more concerned by the minute, he wasn’t even this much of a mess when he explained about Aerys. “Don’t worry about that, just tell me the thing about the spell.” 

“My father used to ask me to do things for him, deal with his adversaries and such, he always talked of returning the Lannisters to their rightful place and so forth. But, plenty of old families don’t like what’s happened over the past few generations, you know that,” 

Brienne nodded. “Deal with who?” 

“People who stood in the way, who could help him but didn’t, he wasn’t well-liked because he’s never done clean business, that’s hardly a secret if you’ve seen a newspaper anytime in the last forty years. After the trial, no one else was very interested in hiring me, so I did what he asked.” 

Brienne had a suspicion that it wasn’t as simple as that, and Tywin Lannister was likely far from kind about the situation if his reaction to Jaime not being able to cut his own food was any indication. 

“So, I would force them to do what my father wanted, like his _henchman,”_ He was either being honest, or melodramatic and both options seemed equally likely. She wasn’t exactly surprised about it either way, with the things Cersei said, and his level of comfort with things like fighting the Targaryen soldiers. Still, none of this made sense about connecting to the spell. 

Brienne drew back without really meaning too. “You _killed_ people?” 

Jaime reached out for her hand, shaking his head. “Gods, no. Threatened to, but, no. He eventually did ask me to… do that, but I made sure I couldn’t do it.” 

He waved his stunted right arm around casually, and Brienne felt bile lurch up in her throat. 

“I thought it was a car accident,” 

“It was, though it wasn’t strictly an accident, it was a mechanical failing of my own doing. I didn’t have a lot of time.” 

“You— you, why couldn’t you just have left?” 

“I loved my father, and I love my sister. And what would I do without this place, it’s not like the rest of the world will forgive me for Aerys.” 

Brienne nodded, the answer made enough sense, strange and twisted as the Lannisters’ affection for each other was, she supposed she had nothing to say when her own siblings resented her once as much as they loved her, and she them. 

  
  


“But all of that is beside the point,” Brienne had to disagree with that judgment but resigned herself to bringing it up later. 

“So, my father has enemies, and he was making on in my sister by trying to marry her to the King’s son for his own gain,”

“One might wonder why you needed time travel if everyone around her was going to act like it’s the first century,” Brienne muttered, hoping it would make Jaime laugh. 

He did, huddling closer to her again. “You’re a much better person than anyone else I’ve met here. But, when I was thinking about all that, I thought, it makes sense that those old Lannisters tried to use magic to get their kingdom back because my father was always trying the same thing. He never explained much, but the people I spoke with, well, he was planning something with a similar effect, I’m sure. And if that didn’t work, and he somehow read about what happened in the past, I mean, we can’t ask him but it makes sense.” 

“You think he was… ” Brienne trailed off. “That he was the one who planned for this to happen?” 

Jaime was quiet for a long moment before he admitted. “Yes, that’s what I thought,” 

He sprung off the rock with his last words, dragging her to her feet before him. “And if it was him, then we can have done with this, whoever he hired won’t come around again if he isn’t asking. And Tyrion will lay off you about finding out more.” 

“The dreams must be part of it, to—“ Brienne nodded, the picture becoming shockingly clear to her. 

“Help us understand? Somehow?” 

“Yes!” Brienne’s voice was far more high-pitched than was pleasant to hear, and she bounced slightly on the balls of her feet. Relief seeped in, warm and sweet, washing away lingering concerns about her sanity. There was plenty of lingering unease, 

Jaime stepped closer, close enough for a thrill of fear and warmth to shoot through her from the bottom of her stomach. His hand pulled at hers and his right arm went to her shoulder and the back of her neck. 

“It’s over, thank the gods.” 

The relief turned bitter in her chest. Without this whole mess, as bad a reason as it was, they’d be apart. Surely, outside of this, he had better things to do with his time, they’d never have been friends without it. There was enough of a chance that without it, he would find her as dull and awful as he had before it had all happened. 

“Brienne, I can hear you worrying, just be happy it’s over. Or,” Jaime hesitated and shuddered “Did you think of something else?” 

Brienne shook her head. “No, nothing like that, you’re right of course. I just—“ _think I’m in love with you because of all this and I’m not quite ready to be disappointed._

He kept watching her as she tried to find the words. Something in his eyes made her want to stop worrying or believe that she didn’t have anything to worry about. Not that she was enough of a fool to trust her instincts on that. 

“It’s nothing,” 

“Oh Brienne,” He breathed, his eyes fluttered closed for a moment. “I’m so sorry,” 

He leaned closer, head tilting a bit, for one bizarre moment she wondered if he was going to kiss her. 

Brienne panicked, screwing her eyes shut and tensing up. “You _tampered_ with your _car?”_

Jaime sighed deeply and she felt him move in front of her. When she opened her eyes he was looking away from her, turned most of the way towards the edge of the cliff. 

“One of the wheels, so I lost control of the car, in the crash, all of this happened.” 

She moved closer to him again, completely against her better judgment. “Gods, you could’ve died. What on earth were you thinking?” 

Jaime shook his head. “I did, for a short while, but they were able to salvage _this,”_ He gestured distastefully with his right hand. “For months, I resented that, but the past few months have been better, because I got to know you,”

Brienne wrapped her other arm around the front of his shoulders, resting her chin on his shoulder. There was nothing she could think of to comfort him, no real way to respond to such a confession. Instead, she said; “Come to King’s Landing,” 

Jaime’s head jerked towards her like he was surprised, though she couldn’t make out his expression. But after an agonizing moment spent wondering if she had gone too far, he spoke. “If you’re sure you can stand more time with me, I’ll be there.” 

*

It was strange that the Lannister’s library had become something of a comforting place. Today, it was an easy place to hide away from her siblings, Jaime and Tyrion, and apparently their extended family too. Many Lannisters had descended on the house, seemingly overnight, and the hallways had been crowded when she passed through them. 

It was probably against whatever terms were keeping them in the apartment but Brienne didn’t return there after being out with Jaime. Instead, she hid in the library. 

She made her way past the main seating area into the back corner where the family records were kept, near the end of one of the aisles there, there was an armchair and a small table, well concealed from the view of anyone looking in by the towering shelves. 

Brienne was tired from the early morning and envied Jaime’s ability to go back to sleep despite the sun creeping higher in the sky and the conversation they’d had before dawn. But, he could talk of nothing else as she escorted him back to his room. _Gods, I’m so tired. Aren’t you? I can’t wait to be back in my room, are you going back to sleep?_ It had been nervous babbling like he didn’t know what to say to her after everything else. He’d been unduly annoyed with her for staying up, and now that she was sitting still, eyes dry and stinging from exhaustion, she quite regretted arguing over it.

But, she picked up with the record books where she had left off, right around the time of the Great War. She had moved through anything in the records mentioning the five years before the war before they’d gone to Winterfell, and thought often enough of reading the rest of them. 

Most of the book had nothing to do with Lady Brienne— _that_ continued to go largely unmentioned. But it was interesting for other reasons; there were collections of letters detailing King Tywin’s wartime dealings, and efforts to stay neutral, plans for the battle at the old Casterly Rock, and writings showing the aftermath. Most of it, she had to admit, she’d seen before, in other textbooks or studies that had likely made use of the document, but it was a fascinating narrative to read put together. 

When she thought to check her watch, it was well into the afternoon and she’d been sitting there for four hours, completely lost to the world. 

Still, she turned back to the reading. It was infinitely better than facing the rest of the chaos in the house, so she stayed for several hours until the light shining from the high, angled windows had turned pink, and orange, and eventually faded so much she had to switch on the desk’s lamp to make out the words on the page. 

She forgot to wonder if her siblings were looking for her. If they had received any news. If Jaime had woken yet, and if he was feeling any calmer. The book mentioned briefly the birth of Arianne Lannister, daughter of Lord Jaime on Tarth, accompanied by a sentence penned in and crossed out mentioning that Lady Brienne was not expected to recover from it. No sentence was written in to correct the one that was erased. 

When she turned the page, there was another entry on a trip that the King and Queen would make to Storm’s End, and, in the corner; one of the strange drawings. This time a red heart seemingly engulfed in flame, drawn in the same style and medium of the other drawings that matched with the carvings in the stones at the ruins. 

Brienne stiffened, and shut the book for the shock of seeing it, but quickly opened it again, wondering, hoping against hope that she had hallucinated the picture. She hadn’t. 

The surprise drove her from her seat and sent her hurrying from the library, book held under her arm. Her shoes echoed on the wooden floors, so it almost sounded like someone was following after her, the sound made her walk a little quicker and her heartbeat a little faster for fear. Childishly, she didn’t want to look over her shoulder for fear there would be something behind her. 

She forced herself to slow down, and not run from the library like a frightening child. But, when she did, a hand shot out from the aisle she’d paused beside and tugged her behind the shelf. The book fell to the ground with a dull _thud._

“There you are,” 

In spite of herself, she let out a muffled half-choked-back scream, that was, for all her restraint, more of an undignified squeak. Without looking to see who it was, she slapped the hand from her arm, sending it swinging backward into the bookshelf. 

Behind her, before she could turn, someone scoffed. “What the fuck, Tarth?” 

She fought the urge to roll her eyes as she turned around, frustrated and a bit scared all at once. “Was the cloak and dagger so necessary?” 

Cersei’s eyes glinted in the light hanging off the shelf above their head, yellow light enhancing the gold of her hair and the green of her eyes unnaturally, terrifyingly. “Yes.” 

And, Brienne remembered with alarm that Jaime had put forth his sisters’ name as a possible murder suspect. She took several steps back until her shoulders pressed against the opposite shelf. “What do you want, then?” 

“You have to come with me.” Cersei said tersely, busying herself with stooping to pick up the book. “To the ruins. There’s something we need to do.” 

Brienne gave her a long flat look, waiting for more details. “What do I have to do with it?” 

Cersei bit her lip, her expression morphing from impatience to what _looked_ like uncertainty, fear, perhaps. Or perhaps she was imagining it. She shifted between her feet a few times before answering. “Jaime’s there.” 

“ _What? Why?”_ Brienne snapped. Gods, what had she missed, wasting the day away in here?

Cersei bit her lip again. “I took him there this afternoon, we had something to do. But, he… fainted, I think, I can’t move him.”

_Idiot,_ Brienne thought, _I’m going to kill him when he gets back._

Cersei looked at her expectantly, though not as nervous as Brienne would expect from a woman whose father had just died and whose brother had collapsed in suspicious enough circumstances. Fortunately, she had thought to come to the right person, even if Brienne was targeted because she could pick him up. 

“Okay, fine, I can help, but you can probably” Brienne hesitated a moment, weighing the options. Still probably best not to tell Cersei what had really happened. “Just stay here, I’m pretty familiar with the place.” 

“Why? Because of the spell? It can’t hurt me, as far as I can tell. I can’t believe Tyrion actually figured it out.” 

Brienne’s head spun, and for a moment she hoped that she’d misheard Cersei, but as the reality of what she’d said set in, cold fear washed over her again, and she floundering for a moment, not even able to remember how to draw in a breath. 

“Jaime told you.” She managed, finally. 

Cersei laughed coldly. “ _Jaime_ knows about it? Gods, that took him long enough. How that idiot was the one all along never ceases to amaze me. Though I suppose you’re involved too, so there’s no accounting for taste.” 

“ _What?”_ Brienne literally couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

_“_ I’ve known about the spell for years, so, no need to protect me, Miss Tarth. Could we go help my brother now?” 

_Yes,_ Brienne thought, _one thing at a time._

She followed Cersei from the room. 

Door-to-door it was a twenty minute trip to the ruins with Cersei driving at a speed that was hardly advisable and barely controlled. And it was a hellishly awkward twenty minutes. Cersei didn’t talk more than necessary, and what she deemed ‘necessary’ was snapping at her to sit in the passenger seat and handing her a mass of black wool and telling her to change into it. 

“What?” 

Cersei rolled her eyes as she started the car and shifted it into gear. “You can do the same as Jaime, can’t you? Those clothes won’t quite fit in wherever you’re going.” 

Brienne shook her head but set the clothes in her lap, beneath her arms. 

“What are you waiting for? Some privacy? Trust me, I have no desire to _this_ uncovered. Hurry up.” 

She refused to wince at that and did as Cersei said, struggling to slip the dress on and over her legs sitting in the car. Her long limbs were cramped as it was and changing made them all the more noticeable as she tried to bend them properly. The garment did up with buttons in the front, which was only a small mercy as there seemed to be nearly a hundred of them from neck to ankle. 

“Put your hair down, it’s not much, but no one wore it like that.” Cersei instructed over the sound of the wheels squealing on the pavement as she turned. 

Brienne pulled out her ponytail holder and set it on the dashboard, her hair shook out to just below her shoulders, which seemed to displease Cersei. 

“It’s too short, no wonder you’ve not survived long enough to do anything useful.” 

Brienne didn’t respond and Cersei shut up for the rest of the drive, aside from heavy, irate sighs every so often, leaving Brienne to wonder what the hell she meant by that. 

The sun had set completely when they reached the ruins and Cersei slammed on the brakes before the car could go sailing over the cliff beyond the parking area. She was out of the car before Brienne had fully realized the car had stopped. 

“ _Tarth!”_

Brienne flung the door open and stepped out, stumbling over a rock and into a divet in the ground in the dark. 

Cersei was standing at the boot of the car with a torch and the book Brienne had dropped in the hallway. 

“Why do you need that?” 

Cersei handed both things to her. “Did you read it? I assume that's why you had it. It’s where you are going, don’t you know about the drawings? They’re supposed to be your map, not that you’ve found any of the important ones.” 

“What?” 

“You haven’t gone to before the war, have you? Of course, both of you are incompetent.” 

Brienne shook her head, Cersei’s meaning completely lost to her. 

“Well, no matter. Now that it’s up to me, we won’t be involving ourselves in this anymore, you just need to get Jaime.” 

“Do you realize nothing you say makes sense?” 

“Not to you, I’m sure. But you’re not important so it doesn’t matter, Miss Tarth. Now read the damn page so you know something to help Jaime.” 

“Know _what?”_

Cersei waved her hand vaguely, taking a right turn inside the main entrance of the ruins. “Context, who to avoid, who can help you.” 

Brienne frowned, but followed her blindly, scanning the page in the torchlight as she made her way gingerly over the uneven floor. She’d already read it but didn’t know what else to do, strangely she found herself wondering if it wouldn’t have been a good idea to ask Cersei about this to begin with. 

They wound through the ruins, down stairs, and through corridors until they stopped in one room, notably with a mostly intact roof. The room was a series of sunken tubs in the stone connected to each other and walls through open-top piping, also carved out of the floor, like an old-fashioned bathhouse. Now the tubs were filled with rubble, dust, and the bones of small creatures that had had the misfortune of falling in over the years. 

Jaime was laying on his back on a bench near the wall, eyes closed and arms hanging off the sides of the bench. In the bluish light of the torch, he looked pale— _dead, really,_ the rise and fall of his chest the only evidence that he was still alive. 

Brienne began to feel dizzy almost instantly and she quickly moved to her knees beside the bench and into a sitting position. Cersei was standing off behind her, watching her in what must have been fascination. Brienne gave her a sharp nod which only made the dizziness worse. 

She shouldn’t have thought of all the other things Cersei had said, or how angry Sansa and Arya would be at her for disappearing like this, or what would happen if she woke up to find Jaime long gone from wherever it would drop her. But they all occurred to her in the last moments she waited before the darkness dragged her down, the last thing she was aware of was her arms buckling underneath her, and falling towards the ground. 

144 AC - STORM’S END 

Wind whipped freezing rain against her face, the little pellets burning against her skin, droplets were falling so thick that she could scarcely make out where she was. A walkway of some sort, a wall rising as high as her hips on one side, and stretching taller than her on the other, intermittently broken by tall, narrow windows. 

_A castle’s wall_ , she realized, _Storm’s End._

Nothing but the rain and a small stretch of green grass were visible beyond the castle. On her other side, a keep stretched out before her, a colossal tower stretching into the sky in the center with the rest of the keep short and sprawling. The inside of the keep was somewhat more protected from the rain, but water still ran in rivers off the slanted roofs beyond her and turned the grey stones black. 

As she watched the keep below, three women in red robes passed through the courtyard, trailed by a host of guards in gold and red. 

“Brienne? _Brienne!”_

She turned away, squinting through the rain down the pathway atop the wall. In one direction, there was nothing but empty wall, but on the other; _Jaime_ , sitting with his knees drawn to his chest, out of the rain in a spot where the wall formed a little archway over the path. Brienne moved towards him, steps impeded by her sodden, long skirts, and dropped to her knees beside him. 

There wasn’t enough space under the arch for either of them, and it wasn’t as though it was dry there with the gusting wind driving the rain every which way. But Jaime had managed to shield himself from being completely drenched. 

He was _staring_ at her as though he’d seen a ghost, so oddly that she glanced down briefly just to confirm he had only one hand. It had occurred to her for an odd moment that she’d actually come across Ser Jaime again. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” Brienne slapped his shoulder. “Why would you go to the ruins?” 

In lieu of answering, he surged forward and threw his arms around her, knocking her off balance so she was seated beside him, legs bent awkwardly beneath her as she put her arms around him. 

_He’s been here a long time,_ she realized. “How long has it been for you?” 

Jaime hesitated a moment, clinging to her a little more tightly as he spoke. “Almost four days, I haven’t wanted to move far from here, because you’d show up eventually.” 

“Gods,” Brienne replied, tucking her chin closer to the side of his neck. “You should have asked me along.” 

Jaime shook his head. “You shouldn’t be here now, it’s dangerous.” 

Defensiveness flared up inside her, though it was sweet enough of him that she couldn’t be completely angry. So, she sounded more light-hearted than she meant to saying; “Fuck off, Jaime.” 

“What if you can’t get back? Cersei wants to destroy the spell, it’s why we came.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is up? Moving has thrown me through a LOOP so this chapter took me so long, I am so sorry. We'll see what happens but the next one should be up on Wednesday or Thursday. Stay tuned for more time traveling shenanigans. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading <3   
> -B


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne explore Storm's End.

144 AC - STORM’S END

They found the servants’ quarters within the keep and a room that was unoccupied, judging by the lack of things in the room and the heavy layers of dust on the few pieces of furniture.

Brienne knelt in front of fireplace, wringing the water out of her dress on the rough wooden floor for what must have been the fifth time. Her dress was soaked through from the rain and droplets falling from it kept extinguishing whatever beginnings of a fire she’d succeeded in making. She had piled wood in a rough approximation of what a fire should look, hay as kindling beneath it. There was a set of flint and steel set near the wood piled beside the fireplace but with the water dripping everywhere it was almost impossible to use. 

Jaime was behind her, stretched out on the low mattress on the floor, probably already sleeping; wrapped in one of the blankets while the clothes-- presumably the ones Cersei had given him, were drip-drying on the one wooden chair in the room. Not that he would’ve been much use in lighting a fire, so she didn’t mind. He’d been sullen and silent since the wall, not answering her questions or making much of an effort to explain anything he’d said there. 

The rain was lashing against the windows and thundering on the roof above them, a steady trickle came through a crack between two tiles, pooling in a pot that must have once been used for heating water that Brienne had set there. 

The steel sparked and the spark caught on the hay, this time not extinguished by another drop of water, and the kindling lit up in a brief flash of flame that faded before it could catch the bigger logs. Brienne grabbed another handful of hay and fed the kindling before the fire could die out entirely. She’d done so twice already, both times extinguishing the fire by accident and she refused to make the same mistake again. 

And it paid off; after what was an unduly tense moment, the first log began to burn, quickly catching the second and beginning to give off a bit of warmth. 

Brienne sat back on her heels and let out a sigh of relief before beginning to remove her own boots and socks, still the ones she had been wearing in Lannisport and not at all time-appropriate, so it was fortunate her skirt was long enough to cover them, cumbersome as it was. She laid them out to dry before the fire and edged away from the hearth a bit, not wanting to stray from it so her clothes might dry as well. 

With nothing left to do, she crossed her legs before her, tucking her feet beneath her legs to try and warm them, and stared at the fire. She thought of the things Cersei had told her, the mutterings about how they were incompetent, and her instructions to read the page about the King and Queen’s trip to Storm’s End to help Jaime. 

Nothing she recalled from it might help, it told of a visit with Lord Tywin’s sister, the Lady of Storm’s End and their children. It wasn’t very useful to know the Lannisters were there, if that were even how it worked, it wasn’t as though they could be seen by them. 

Morbidly, Brienne thought it might be better for them to just die in this time and return to theirs without looking around. Clearly, with the many, _many_ things Cersei had referenced, there was a lot they needed to talk about. At the very least, it more or less confirmed Jaime’s theory about his father, and he and Cersei had planned to destroy the possible doorways-- or so he had explained. To prevent them from being able to go back, because, as Jaime had said, _I never wanted to do this again._

Brienne had asked why; she hadn’t thought it so terrible the last time they were there. Frightening, yes, but that was only because she didn’t understand. Now they understood, so there was no need to be afraid of it. But, Jaime refused to tell her anything more. 

She sat on the floor long enough that the rain let up and the light faded from the sky and she had to add more logs to the fire twice to keep it warm enough. Her clothes were still quite damp and she hadn’t stopped shivering, but her hair had dried and her face was warmed by the flames. Jaime slept all the while, and there was hardly a point in waking him in the middle of the night the rest of the castle slept. Her eyes grew heavy too with time, so she laid out in front of the fire, finding the most comfortable position on top of the board lying on her left arm. She dozed off easily but slept lightly and never for long stretches of time, waking whenever Jaime moved and the bedframe groaned, or a log collapsed in the fireplace. 

“Brienne,” 

Her eyes opened at the sound, her mind still not far from consciousness. “Yes?” 

Jaime sounded groggy. “What are you doing?” 

“Waiting for you to wake up,” She retorted. “Resting,” 

She heard him moving again, and the bed creaking, followed by footsteps moving across the floor before he sat down next to her head, blanket wrapped tightly around him. 

“How long have I been asleep?” 

Brienne shrugged. “Probably six hours, we can’t do anything until sun up if you want to go back to sleep.” 

Jaime didn’t say anything for a long while, prompting her to tilt her head back to look up at him to see him looking back. 

“What?” 

Jaime shook his head. “Nothing, I’m sorry I told you this was over.” 

Brienne made a noncommittal noise. “I don’t hate it as much as you do, though, I don’t expect Sansa will be happy when she hears about this, particularly after I disappeared in the middle of the night.” 

She was expecting Jaime to laugh, but he didn’t, instead, he grimaced. “We’ll be back soon, I’ll think of something, don’t worry.”

She didn’t know why he said it for she wasn’t worried at all. Perhaps, she thought, he was talking more to himself. 

By the time the sun rose again, her dress had dried and she’d gotten a bit more sleep. Jaime was up, dressed and standing by the window, his blanket was draped over her shoulders instead. She must have fallen into a deeper sleep, for she hadn’t woken to any of the movement in the room. The fire was still going strong, and the room was pleasantly warm. 

When she sat up, Jaime turned from the window. “Good morning,” 

Brienne nodded. “What time is it?” 

Jaime shrugged. “I really don’t know if they use clocks, the sun’s been up for an hour but I thought you could use the sleep.” 

She struggled to her feet around her skirt, trying to card her fingers through her hair. It was snarled and matted where she’d been laying on it, though without a comb there was only so much good she could do with her hands. 

Jaime smiled-- probably in amusement, which was unfair of him because he looked as _unfairly_ good as ever with unruly hair. She narrowed her eyes at him. 

“You try having long hair, shut up.”

“That wasn’t-- I didn’t say anything!” 

Brienne scoffed. “Really? Never mind, just tell me what you think we should do.” 

“Isn’t that your job?” She was surprised to hear he almost sounded angry. His hand was closed around the end of his right arm, fingers pulled at the scar tissue, like he was unsure what to do with his hands. 

“You’ve been here longer, what have you been doing?” 

“Waiting for you to show up!” 

Brienne glowered. “Well, for all your waiting you’re still pretty angry I showed up, aren’t you?” 

Jaime pulled at his bottom lip with his teeth, looking for a moment like he was going to say something before he shook the thought aside and looked away. “Fine, well, so long as we’re here, we should look around and see what Tywin and Joanna are up to, I guess.” 

“And, what if Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime are around too?” 

“Then we’ll probably die.” Jaime snapped, his arms fell to his side and his left hand curled into a fist. Anger radiated from his furrowed brows and narrowed eyes, from the tension in his shoulders and arms. 

Brienne pressed her hands together, fighting off the urge to snap at him back. _Why was he being such an ass?_

“Let’s just go,” She said instead, shoving the stinging, cold dread as far from her mind as she was able. Which, admittedly, was not very far. 

Neither of them spoke as they gathered the rest of their things and extinguished the fire with the rainwater collected during the storm. The hallway was deserted when they left the room, which was for the best if they hoped to make it to the other part of the keep without being questioned. It briefly occurred to her that they should have come up with some sort of cover story as to why they were there. She wasn’t sure if she was brave enough to speak up again; as her anger faded, the more Jaime’s reluctance to have her there stung. 

_Well, he honestly should have known better if he expected it would work with his sister,_ she thought defiantly, _he heard how the whole thing works from Sam Tarly, same as the rest of us._

They made their way through a series of nondescript courtyards, bustling with servants unloading crates and leading animals around, gradually they courtyards became cleaner, more populated with plants. One of them was a training yard filled with young boys with blunted swords, running drills. 

Eventually they made it to the front of the large tower, the main part of the keep, after several wrong turns and a few arguments. Once, they had to ask someone for directions, a child that couldn’t have been older than eight, who wasn’t likely to find them terribly strange. 

No one stopped them from slipping into a servants’ entrance, or questioned them as they moved through the main hall, lined with bored-looking guards. 

Brienne led them up the grand staircase to the upper levels of the main keep, traditionally living quarters would be there. The corridor was deserted too, but as she looked around at the various doors and sub-corridors; a door down the hall slammed open and pattering footsteps echoed across the stone floor. 

Jaime’s hand closed around her arm, dragging her roughly into a side corridor, he crowded her against the wall, so she couldn’t look into the main corridor without turning all the way around. He stood before her, hand on her shoulder with surprising strength holding her in place. Her upper arm ached where he’d inadvertently bumped her side into the wall in his hurry. 

“Jaime, ow!” She hissed, trying and failing to shake him off discreetly. “Can you calm down?” 

Jaime just shushed her, his head was bent towards the floor, so it would be mostly conceal behind her. 

“Are you using me as a shield? You _asshole!”_

He raised his head, looking over her shoulder. “Brienne, _shhh_ ,” 

In the main hallway, a child was giggling and running-- by the sounds of it, as she could see. And being scolded by a woman. 

“ _Lancel, get back inside! Oh gods, do you want your lord father to hear about this?”_

 _Who the hells?_ Jaime mouthed, for the first time looking up at her. 

_Ser Jaime’s nephew,_ she returned absently. 

“ _You’re to be a high lord one day, you’d think you would learn better manners than your cousin. Come now, and I won’t tell your father,”_

A moment later a heavy door slammed again and the corridor was silent. Brienne shoved Jaime away from her. 

“Can you calm down? You’re not going to die if someone sees you.” 

Jaime sighed, shakily, staring straight out at the hallway. His hand was trembling a bit at his side. “Sorry about your arm,” 

“Jaime…” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” He turned back towards the main hallway. “Let’s keep walking,” 

Brienne rolled her eyes, trying to ignore another painful cringe in her stomach. For the first time in a long time, she thought of snapping some sort of reminder about their truce at him. But, since they’d figured it all out, she supposed that was over too. She had never felt more like an idiot. 

They made their way back into the main corridor and happened upon two servants delivering breakfast to Lord Tywin’s apartments-- judging by the conversation they had in the stairwell. They followed them, watching for what door was the servants entrance and waiting for them to exit again with empty trays. When the servants had disappeared back down a side staircase, they slipped into the servants entrance, standing in a tiny, dark hallway with only a water basin on a narrow counter. As far as Brienne could tell, the narrow space branched off off towards access doors into every room in the apartment discreetly. 

They moved past three such doors before they heard conversing voices on the other side of the wall. 

Inside, they were discussing some sort of argument that had occurred in the courtyard the previous day, injuring one of their guard, and how Lord Baratheon was being pig-headed about punishing the man responsible. And, they talked of it for a long while, too long, circling back three times to how horrid the Baratheons were. 

They each pressed an ear against the wall to better hear those who were talking. Jaime leaned on the wall so he was facing her, but stared at the floor all the while, steadfast in it even when she tried to catch his eye. She should have resigned herself to this being it for now, but the thought made her eyes sting with tears and thank the gods for how dark the corridor was, in the moments she allowed her thoughts to wander. 

The conversation was at least useful in identifying the five occupants of the room; Lady Joanna, Lord Tywin, his brother Ser Kevan, their son, Ser Tommen, and his wife, Lady Jeyne. Though, when it ended and a quiet lull fell over the room, Brienne breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Has the ship been prepared? The fire won’t be discovered?” A voice, who Brienne thought must be Ser Kevan asked finally. 

“Aye, we’ll hold some of the crew for some reason or another, no need for meaningless casualties.” 

Jaime looked up at her in alarm. 

“Meaningless casualties? You’ve all gone properly mad. I truly can’t fathom how any of you are considering this still, you talk of killing my brother, the _children,_ on what, the word of an Asshai’i?” The speaker could only have been Ser Tommen. 

“Your brother should consider it an honor.” 

“It seems unlikely he will because _he knows none_ of this.” 

“We won’t remember any of this, sweetling,” Lady Joanna said calmly. “Your brother will fix it for us, that’s why we must do this. We need only wait a bit longer and we’ll not remember a moment of this. The Red Priestesses work is well-known, there’s no need to worry.” 

“Why kill them, then?” 

“Melisandre says for anyone to find _when_ the right time is, they have to leave this time.” 

A chair screeched over the floor. “I’ll have no part in this, I have half a mind to go and tell Jaime myself. Jeyne, come on,” 

“ _Tommen!”_

She wasn’t sure what happened next, but there was a lot of movement all at once, and then a door slammed. It was followed by a lengthy period of silence, punctuated only by deep sighs and the sounds of people settling back into their chairs. 

“Tell Jaime to meet us in the cavern beneath the castle, and make sure he comes. The Tarth girl too.” 

Footsteps drew nearer to their hiding place within the wall, so she moved away, back past the first two doors into the entryway, comforted by the uneven footsteps behind her that Jaime followed without difficulty. 

Before she could step through it, the door to the servants corridor opened, spilling harsh sunlight into the dark, lighting up dust drifting lazily in the air. Jaime pulled her back, and stepped out around her, left arm out to prevent her from stepping around him again. 

_Oh._

In the doorway, a young boy stood with an armful of firewood and gave them a suspicious look. But said nothing as he stood back and waited for them to leave before continuing on. 

The door shut, leaving them once again in the main corridor, right outside the Lannisters’ chambers. Jaime turned and hurried down the corridor and into a small stairwell, only looking back when he nearly lost his balance on the third step. Brienne took his arm and guided him down, through the tight spiral of the staircase made it more arduous a task. 

When they reached the lower level, Jaime steered her into the space beneath the stairs, away from the main hallway. He turned to face her, a focused look on his face, finally not looking as uncertain as before. Scared, she realized now, _scared for her_. She knew she was staring at him, trying-- and failing dismally to process that fact. Something must be horribly wrong, something with Cersei, she thought immediately, _it went downhill the moment she got involved._ Only, Brienne couldn’t figure out what it was. 

And gods but they were close, standing inches apart in the cramped space below the staircase. Jaime’s head tilted ever so slightly back to look up at her. Brienne pressed her eyes closed for a minute, taking a deep breath that did nothing to slow her racing heart. 

Then, she opened her eyes again and was at once lost to her staring. 

“Where are we going next?” He asked, and hesitated for a moment before continuing, more coldly. “Don’t look at me like that, w- Brienne.” 

She flinched. “What else is going on Jaime? What aren’t you telling me?” 

Jaime gave her an indignant look. “Nothing. You honestly think I was lie to you right now? Gods,” 

“You’re afraid,” Brienne snapped. “Now, I almost thought you were just being an ass, but I was pretty sure we’re well past that. But you’re afraid, I was right, and I want to know what the problem is,” 

Jaime narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you serious?” 

“Entirely.” Brienne crossed her arms over her chest and forcing herself to stare back at him, though she wanted to look away. 

Instead, Jaime did; he looked away, shook his head, and scoffed. “Gods, you’re so--” 

Brienne raised her eyebrows. “Truce,” 

He looked back with wide eyes. “That’s not what I meant, though, I’m a bit sick of you always assuming the worst of me.” 

Brienne scoffed in return. “I don’t _always_ assume the worst,” _I’ve been far more than fair to you given the things you said not two months ago,_ she thought, but held back. 

“Yes, you do. It’s quite unfair of you, the truce implies trust too, remember? But you never will, will you?” 

Brienne bristled. “Have you heard anything I said to you these past months? I trust you, how could I not?” 

“Easily, it seems. Gods above, I’m not Hyle Hunt.” 

She winced again. She didn’t understand exactly what he was getting at but just the name was a slap in the face. “What?” 

Jaime pushed past her, moving towards the doorway into the main hall. “It’s nothing, and there’s nothing to worry about.” 

On an instinct, she grabbed his right wrist, fingers tightening more than necessary so he couldn’t pull away and she _pulled._ He stumbled back towards her, still easily unsteadied, and she drew him far closer than he was before. Without meaning to she drew in a sharp gasp, Jaime looked back at her with a look that seemed to dare her to continue the argument. But the will to argue had gone out of her. 

“Jaime,” Her voice lost its edge too, going softer and quieter than she meant it to. “Why did you do that?”  
  


“Do what?” He retorted, his voice quiet but retained the edge hers lacked. “Stand in front of you? I’m sorry that offended you.” 

“ _Jaime,”_

He took a deep breath. “Do you remember what I said after last time? About when we… died?” 

_“_ Yes,” She remembered it well enough; _I remember watching him kill you, it was horrible._ It had been touching, but watching someone die was probably never _not_ horrible, she hadn’t thought much of it since then. 

“I think of it,” Jaime hesitated. “All the time. I’ve had nightmares of it, I’ll see it sometimes if I think a moment too long. Or I hear the sword, or you screaming, and struggling to breath, the blood... ” 

“ _Jaime--”_ Brienne tried to back away, but after a step, she was pressed against the wall. She suddenly felt as cold and miserable as she had after the storm last night, and sick to her stomach to boot. 

He didn’t seem to hear her, staring at the wall behind her shoulder with a faraway look. 

“I don’t care if it doesn’t matter, it can’t happen again. I can’t--” 

Brienne eased her grip on his arm and pulled her hand away, watching hurt flash in Jaime’s eyes at the gesture followed by relief when she put her hands on his shoulders instead. 

“Jaime, I don’t know what--” 

“It’s not your fault.” He continued, finally looking up at her. “I know it’s stupid, I just can’t lose you again. Or at least, not like that.” 

Brienne nodded, unable to muster another response. “Gods,” 

She didn’t finish the thought, distracted by Jaime’s hand coming to rest on her neck, his tipping forward slightly on his toes. His expression was pained, eyes fearful, dark, but he held her gaze and they softened, fear and horror dulling to sadness. His hand grazed up her neck to her jaw, fingers tense, demanding on her skin. 

“I’m sorry,” He said, voice barely above a whisper. He was breathing quickly and she scarcely dared to move, let alone breathe. Her heart danced beneath her ribs, spreading warmth all through her. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“Of course you should have,” She responded, her stomach cringing in horror at how breathless she sounded. “It’s all ri--” 

His thumb ghosted over her cheek, eyes searching hers. _He’s going to kiss me,_ she thought, with far greater certainty than the last time she’d thought it, but it didn’t feel any more real. 

His right arm went to her waist, drawing her against him and he surged forward, and-- 

A door slammed shut above them, footsteps thundering on the wooden planks above them. Jaime moved away, his eyes pressed shut, instead using the arm around her waist to pull her further under the stairs where they’d both be concealed from view. 

Two soldiers reached the bottom of the stairs, not looking around before exiting, barking directions at each other as they went. 

Jaime deflated, pressing his forehead against the wall. Brienne twisted in his arms and he released her. 

“We shouldn’t stay here.” She said gently, reaching for his right forearm, he flinched when her fingers closed over his arm but relaxed under the movement of her thumb across his skin, over his shirtsleeve. “I can’t promise nothing bad is going to happen, but then we’ll be back where we’re supposed to be. And,” she hesitated, not quite knowing what the hell she was going to do next. Most of the things running through her mind sounded terrible presumptuous. “Then I’ll be there if things get bad again with…” She paused again. 

For the first time Jaime broke into a smile. “This is just killing you, isn’t it?” 

“A little,” She admitted, beginning to wonder if that was a good thing, or a bad thing, if she should apologize for that...

Jaime rose, pulling himself up with the wall before offering her his hand. She took it, not really needing it or intending to use it, but it felt like the thing to do. When she rose to stand beside him, he used it to pull her close enough to press a kiss to her cheek before releasing her. 

In spite of everything, she thought she might die of shock on the spot. But, that would have to wait. 

The journey to find their way to underneath Storm’s End took the better part of the day. They began by asking those they saw around the castle, first a kindly-looking cook, then a group of young squires, and finally a guard who snapped at them to keep to their own affairs unless they wanted trouble. Which brought them to another castle library, the least interesting one she’d seen thus far; a large, perfectly rectangular room, with only wooden furniture and no-nonsense rows of shelves. The search for a map, at least, was quite short, as all matters relating to the castle were on the leftmost shelves. 

Ultimately they discovered that it was only accessible through a passageway beginning from near the bottom of the cliff Storm’s End was built on, marked with the ‘water’ symbol on the map. 

Jaime crossed his arms on the tabletop and rested his head on them in defeat as she explained it. 

“We don’t have to go see it,” Brienne said tentatively. She very much wanted to see what happened, both of them knew it and she knew the offer came off as begrudging. “We can just go back.” 

Jaime’s head shot up. “But then--” 

“My lord! My lady! Well, what are you doing in here?” 

Brienne slammed the book shut, eyes darting to Jaime’s in panic, his hand went to hers, holding it to the table. A silent signal not to move. 

He twisted in his seat. “Reading, perhaps you’ve heard of it?” 

When Brienne turned with him, she saw an older knight, dressed in Lannister armor standing in the doorway, regarding them with suspicion. “Certainly, my lord. I’ve been sent by your father to fetch you. He requires your presence beneath the keep, it’s a matter of some urgence.” 

Brienne watched Jaime’s face turn from blank to imperious; his eyebrows raising and his chin jutting out. 

“Give us a moment, will you?” 

The knight nodded sharply and withdrew from the room, the door shutting softly behind him. 

“Well, _that_ was easy,” Jaime began, cheerfully. 

Brienne frowned and stood, hoping he meant having an escort just where they needed to go, but fearing it to be some other scheme. “What are we going to do?” 

Jaime hadn’t let go of her hand and pulled himself up with her. “We’ll go with him, it’s a way in.” 

“Are you sure--” Jaime cut her off with a tug on her hand, drawing her close enough that her ability to speak, and focus disappeared entirely. 

“I want to know.” He said firmly. “I’ll bear it. But, thank you.” 

Brienne grabbed Jaime’s cloak from the back of his chair and fastened it around his neck. “Keep your other arm under this, Ser Jaime has two hands.” 

Jaime grimaced and pulled the cloak a little further around him. “Fantastic.” 

She didn’t let go of his hand when she began to move towards the door, or the entire time they followed the knight through the keep and down to the docks. He said nothing more to them for most of the walk, occasionally casting wary glances at them. 

At the docks, they were directed to a small dinghy that looked incredibly far from safe for such restless waters. But, Jaime stepped in first and helped her in after him, awkwardly with one hand. Brienne tried not to notice that the dockhands were looking at them strangely and know that, they must look odd, or that they’re potentially the second pair of themselves to come through the place in the last few hours. The knight, at least, didn’t seem to take note and climbed into the dinghy, sat before them on the bench and took up the oars. 

“You look well, my lady,” He noted, tone clearly indicating that he thought something was off. 

Jaime glared at him. “Watch your tone, ser.” 

The knight said nothing more, studiously avoiding their eyes by staring at the boards beneath them. 

The boat hugged the shore, a tiny dot on the water beside the towering cliffs into which Storm’s End was built. The water wasn’t quite dangerous but could hardly be called calm; the boat bobbing and jostling them as it rose and fell in the waves. She couldn’t stop staring out at Shipbreaker Bay, thinking that not so far away, though beyond sight now, Tarth was undisturbed and unburnt. And how, centuries from now, the waters they were on now would be the ones were she and her father nearly drowned escaping it. 

Jaime tugged on her hand, then released and wrapped his arm around her waist instead, bringing her the rest of the way to his side. Her head dropped onto his shoulder instinctively and she allowed her eyes to droop closed, shutting out everything else but the warmth in her veins and the strange little flips her stomach performed at his touch, quite suddenly. 

At long last, their escort steered them into a narrow opening which widened into a proper channel. He lit the torch on the bow of their boat and continued on, somehow familiar enough with the way not to seem worried about rocks piercing the bottom of their vessel. The ceiling was rough grey stone, occasional growths of moss cropped up near the ceiling, and frequent grows of algae where the water lapped up against the stone. 

The trip through the passageway was quite short, before the bottom of the boat ground upon a landing beach of loose rocks and the knight jumped out, splashing water back at them as he dragged the boat the rest of the way to shore. When he paused, his feet no longer pushing noisily at the gravel, she could make out voices echoing down through a passageway that she could just make out in the dim light, though, little more than an unusually dark spot as it was without her glasses on. 

She cast around for something that she could use to deal with the knight, a rock perhaps, or the oar he’d left lying in the boat. Settling on the oar, she pointed it out to Jaime who nodded. The knight’s back was turned, he knelt on the ground, fastening the dinghy to a post half buried in the beach rocks. Jaime stepped out of the dinghy, boots loud in the gravel and shallow water-- enough to drown the sound of her moving the oar about to a position she could easily swing at his head with. 

Brienne couldn’t claim to know the first thing about knocking someone out, and wasn’t sure if she should more fear killing him or failing to knock him unconscious. But, she heard a voice asking from faraway if anyone had heard anything, and decidedly quickly enough. 

She swung and the knight collapsed, a small trickle of blood coming from where the wood had scratched him, but his chest still rose and fell. She placed the oar back in the boat, removed the torch from its bracket and unwound the knot, pushing the boat back into the channel where the receding waves pulled it out to sea. 

Jaime looked at her in confusion. 

Brienne shrugged. “Maybe they’ll think he was always part of the party if they come to check, if there’s only one boat. And no one will look for us.” 

Jaime nodded, still seeming a bit puzzled by the explanation, but allowing her to lead the way off the beach to where the ground turned into solid rock and into the tunnel beyond. She realized very quickly that the torch was a mistake; the tunnel was well lit once she proceeded twenty feet inside it, around a bend. A moving torch would more quickly identify them to watchers; she placed it into a puddle near the wall, rolling it in the water with her foot until it fizzled out. 

They continued down the hall-- really a tunnel carved out of grey stone covered in condensation and cave moss, until they came to a fork. The left hand turn obviously led directly into the room with the voices, judging by the echoes of light and sound. But, she quickly discovered that they could also be heard in the right tunnel, and, a little ways down, there was a round beam of light falling over the floor. 

She chose the right and was pleased to find she was correct, there was a sort of porthole in the wall, looking into the chamber below. There were many such portholes, scattered every few feet along the curing corridor that wound around a circular chamber. 

Peering through the porthole, with her back pressed to the opposite wall, just out of the beam of light; she could make out a large fire in the middle of the room, with the Lannister delegation arrayed around it in a semicircle and a Red Priestess standing before them. The firelight flickered eerily on the faces of those arrayed around it and scarcely reached the furthest wall from them. 

Brienne had to narrow her eyes to make out the different Lannisters in the odd lighting at such a distance. 

“How odd,” Melisandre said, her already-distant sounding voice odd as it echoed off the chamber walls. “You two look terribly familiar.” 

Jaime stepped across the passageway into the shadow on the right side of the porthole so they could look in, closer to the action and out of the way. 

Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime were standing amongst the Lannisters, flanked by guards. A slight young boy with golden curls stood between them and Brienne drew in a sharp breath. 

“I know him,” She muttered, a thrill of recognition drawing all of her attention to the child. “Galladon,” 

“Why didn’t you tell me that you had another--” 

Brienne shook her head. “It was _before_ , the night before we went to Harrenhal, I think. I didn’t know...” 

Jaime just squeezed her shoulder. 

Melisandre was still talking of nothing, some observations about how handsome young Galladon was. Ser Jaime edged a bit in front of the boy, the hand not splayed in front of his son went to the sword on his hip. Lady Brienne stood like a statue, eyes cast sideways at Galladon and Ser Jaime anxiously; in her arms, she held a mass of blankets that she could only assume was Arianne. 

Galladon darted under Jaime’s arm and away from his parents, steel shrieked as it was drawn from a sheath. Brienne scarcely had a moment to process what had happened before a Lannister soldier was lying flat on his back before the Lady Brienne and her family-- Lady Brienne’s foot pressed against his chest. Somehow, in a flash, she had used a leg and an arm, the ones not supporting little Arianne to lay the man low. 

She glanced at Jaime, thinking to check that she hadn’t imagined it, only to see him staring with an expression that could only be described as _dreamy._ She elbowed him and he returned his attention to her. 

“Can _you_ do that?” 

Brienne scowled and returned her attention to the scene in front of them, where things had gone from murmurs of surprise and reprimand being traded between members of the delegation-- to guards forcing Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime to their knees before the fire, swords at the back of their necks. Lady Joanna had come to be holding Arianne in her moment of distraction, and Lord Tywin had a firm grip on a sobbing Galladon. 

Brienne instinctively put her hand over her chest where it ached at the sight. An arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her back ever so slightly, Jaime’s chin rested on her right shoulder. 

“Don’t look,” He murmured. “You don’t have to see this,” 

Melisandre began speaking some foreign tongue full of harsh-sounding consonants, she didn’t speak loudly but her words carried unnaturally, echoing doubly off the walls. The Lannisters drew back, leaving only Lady Brienne, Ser Jaime, and the knights holding them in place before Melisandre, the expressions of glee on their faces somehow the most chilling part of the whole thing. 

A strange horror welled up in Brienne’s chest and her stomach heaved. She couldn’t watch a moment longer, and turned her eyes to the wall beside her. 

Jaime watched still, his thumb moving slowly over the back of her hand that he had yet to release. The moment seemed endless, but when it ended, felt like it had gone on only a few seconds. 

Jaime let out a sigh, relaxing against her. “Brienne look,” 

She did. And Melisandre was shaking her head at the Lannisters. 

“No,” She said, in answer to their silent question; _did it worked as you planned?_ Brienne feared the reaction for a moment, it seemed apt that Melisandre would die for such a failing, or something. But, Tywin and Joanna nodded solemnly, not seeming to despair at the news. She didn’t allow herself a minute to think that over. 

Lady Brienne was helping Ser Jaime to his feet, looking in warning at the guards who’d backed away from them. Ser Jaime stood and kissed her quickly, still Brienne scoffed. 

“What?” Jaime demanded. 

“So not the time,” She remarked, and Jaime snickered. 

Ser Jaime had crossed to his parents, arguing with them in a low voice that didn’t carry far enough for her to make out what he was saying. Likely demanding some sort of explanation, or accusing them of madness that they were clearly guilty of. Lady Brienne stayed well out of it, seeming content to watch in concern and comfort a still wailing Galladon. 

“I’ll not wait a day longer for whatever your business here is,” Ser Jaime said, suddenly loud and commanding enough commanding enough to be heard from where they stood. “We’re leaving, for Tarth, and you’ll stay well enough away from my family if you don’t want this madness to reach the rest of the kingdom.” 

Ser Tommen stepped forward. “Jaime, wait, you can’t get on that boat.” 

Ser Jaime just sneered and turned from his brother to his mother, staring until she released his daughter to him. 

The rasping sound of a sword being drawn sounded behind them. Footsteps settled on the rocky dirt. When Brienne turned, she saw the last she would ever see of Lady Brienne and her family was the four of them standing opposite Tommen, clearly not about to listen to him. 

Jaime stepped away from her. 

“Who are you?” 

Another Lannister soldier stood before them, directing the point of his sword to Jaime’s throat. When he saw their faces properly, he backed away and the sword fell from his hand, his eyes darting to the porthole into the room below. 

Brienne jolted forwards, acting entirely on instinct, and pushed him against the wall with all her strength; he fell, shaken for a moment but conscious. In the room below, she could hear people beginning to wonder what the noise was about. She crouched and retrieve the soldier’s sword, she took a deep breath and shoved the fear away. 

“Jaime,” She jerked her head towards the end of the tunnel that led deeper underneath the castle. “You should go,” 

“What? Absolutely not,” 

The knight began to rise to his feet, and Brienne put the point of the sword at his throat, ignoring how the blade shook pathetically with her shaking arm. 

“ _Go,_ I’ll see you soon.” It was a struggle to keep her voice low. 

Jaime gave her a long look and she had to fight off the urge to shout at him. Instead of moving, he stepped closer, moving quicker than she could react; his hand went to the back of her neck and he kissed her. 

It was fast, and desperate, and over before she could stop feeling the thrill of panic that shot through her first. 

“So _not_ the time,” She muttered and pushed him away from her. “Now, leave.” 

And so he did.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so.... :)  
> See you next time!  
> -B


	18. Chapter 18

THE PRESENT - OLD CASTERLY ROCK 

Brienne was staring at the wall and the underside of the bench when she came to, her cheek pressed against the stone floor, it was no longer cold so she must have been lying there for some time. But, it was dusty and covered in a fine layer of sand and gravel that pricked at her cheek. 

Her whole body felt like it was prickling, simultaneously too cold and too hot. Something in her chest felt pulled tight and ready to snap. Even more strangely, it wasn’t a bad feeling at all. 

“Tarth?” 

She looked up, Cersei was sitting against the wall, on what looked like Jaime’s jacket, her knees pulled to her chest and her forearms propped on her knees. She looked wary and worried, her teeth pulling at her bottom lip as she waited for Brienne’s response. A look that, while Brienne didn’t know her well, knew was quite uncommon for her. 

“When’s Jaime going to wake up?” She prompted. “Have you _failed?”_

Brienne shook her head. “I don’t know. Soon enough,” 

She rose to her knees and pressed her palms to the edge of the bench, leaning towards Jaime. He looked as much like death as he had when she’d passed out, but she still thought it was mostly the gloomy lighting. 

“How long has it been?” Brienne asked, her fingers lifting from the stone to curl around Jaime’s wrist. Bizarrely, _inappropriately,_ she shivered as her fingers brushed over his skin.

Cersei shrugged. “Less than fifteen minutes, why? Is there somewhere you need to be?” 

Brienne didn’t respond. It had been nearly a minute since she’d first opened her eyes-- if not more, which must have been something like an hour in the other time. Surely he should have ‘died’ by now, and, if not, _why on earth was he not trying harder?_ She hadn’t the faintest idea how to go back-- though if she could, she would, and kill him herself. 

Cersei cleared her throat. “What’s going on? I thought you said it worked.” 

Brienne opened her mouth to respond but nothing else came out. _Two minutes now._ That was nearly as long as they had been out during the first trip. And they’d been there a few hours. And this time, he had been so desperate to get back only a bit ago. 

Cersei stood behind her, scuffing her foot against the stone and sighing loudly. “ _Tarth,_ tell me what happened. Staring at him isn’t going to change anything.” 

“I don’t know,” She mumbled. “I thought everything was fine.” 

Cersei cursed. “ _You idiot_ , gods, I can’t believe they chose you for this. He _has_ to come back.” 

“I know that,” Brienne muttered, vaguely wondering who Cersei meant by ‘they’, for the notion that Tywin had allies in this madness was quite horrifying. 

“He has to come back _now,_ you don’t understand.” 

Brienne stiffened, her fingers tightening around Jaime’s wrist. “No, I don’t. What do you mean ‘ _now’?”_

“We don’t have much time,” Cersei murmured, still not explaining what she meant. She hurried to the wall where she’d been sitting and knelt again. “Gods, what are we going to do?” 

Brienne’s hand moved to Jaime’s shoulder, but, she realized quickly enough it wasn’t going to do anything. “ _Come on,_ ” She muttered, in frustration with herself, Jaime, and Cersei’s refusal to tell her anything. 

“We have to go.” Cersei said, something in her voice sent a thrill of alarm through her. “Just carry him.” 

_“What?”_ Brienne stood finally, turning around to her. The whole proposition was preposterous, if she understood the spell, she must understand that at least. “What are you talking about? We can’t. Leave if you want, I’ll stay with him, just ask Tyrion or my sisters to come back up.” 

“No, he has to leave too. And I suppose you should as well.” Cersei shook her head, pressing her hand to her forehead. “He wouldn’t like me letting you stay here.” 

Brienne glowered. “Well, it’s not a good idea to--” 

“HE’LL DIE!” Cersei shouted, going from troubled to hysterical in a flash. Brienne jumped, her hand reaching out behind her until her fingers brushed against Jaime’s leg. Her eyes must have been comically wide, and she knew her mouth was slightly open in the awful way it always was when she got upset. 

“Why? What did you do? We can’t leave, he might be stuck if…” 

“It’s a chance we’ll have to take, since you couldn’t do your damn job. My father and brother are fools, I could have told them you were no true Lannister, and look what you did.” 

Brienne frowned. “I’m _not_ a Lannister, and Jaime didn’t… well, I hope he didn’t--” 

“Not Jaime, _Tyrion,_ gods you can’t put two and two together can you? Pick Jaime up, you’re still good for that at least.” 

Brienne did as she was told. Mostly for something to do other than be confused. It was getting quite old, really. She was really beginning to wonder if they all _thought_ she knew whatever they were talking about, surely they couldn’t be this purposefully mysterious about everything. 

Jaime was still breathing, soft and slow and constant, something that didn’t change the whole way back through the ruins to the car. She focused on that; his breathing and her breathing to stay in the moment, to stay sure this was still real. And she hadn’t fallen into some ever stranger nightmare after dying in the other world. 

When they reached the car, she was jerked out of it by Cersei’s shrill demands; _put Jaime in the back of the car, drive the car, just drive gods damn it._

Brienne set Jaime down and whirled on her, she was watching her wristwatch, teeth tugging at her lip again, legs alternating bearing her weight in impatience. 

“Drive!”

She climbed into the front seat, legs far too long for the small space making it awkward to press the brakes. She pressed her tongue against the back of her grit teeth, trying not to ask any question, or start screaming. Tears pricked in her eyes as she tried to start the car with shaking hands. She didn’t know where they came from either, for she mostly just felt _numb,_ like something had iced over the part of her mind that was panicking, keeping it from the rest of her mind. 

Cersei was talking-- Brienne thought, talking at Jaime, but it was background noise to the roar in her ears. 

The car peeled out of its parking spot and jerked as she tried to shift from ‘reverse’ to ‘drive’ with a shaking hand. 

Ordinarily, she was a cautious driver, but not now. The pedal was pressed nearly to the floor and her leg ached with the effort of pressing it down, the headlights weren’t powerful enough to see far ahead of them and it was nothing short of a miracle that they didn’t go careening off the winding road descending from the rock. 

All the while, Cersei demanded she go faster, get them out of here, reminding again and again that there wasn’t much time. 

Brienne didn’t really understand what she was talking about until, a blinding flash of green light illuminated the road before her. The light was followed by heat and a horrible rumbling, banging sort of sound. And everything about it was strangely familiar. 

Brienne slammed on the brakes and felt Cersei hit the back of the seat with a curse. She whipped around in time to see the hillside behind them engulfed in _green_ flames. 

She screamed. And quickly trapped the sound behind her hand.“What the _fuck_ is that?” Her words were high pitched muffled behind her fingers. 

“Wildfire,”

Cersei turned back to Jaime, her fingers pressing against his neck, and his wrist, muttering something to herself that might have been pleas. After a horrible moment, in which Brienne had time to comprehend enough of the reality of what had happened to know that Jaime was in the most danger and feel the bile rise in her throat at the sound. 

Cersei slumped over in relief. “He’s still alive.” 

Brienne relaxed too, tears pricking at her eyes again for a different reason. One she didn’t really know, but drawn from another emotion. Or exhaustion. Something that made her feel like she couldn’t bear the rest of the drive back to the Lannister estate as she was now. She wanted Sansa, Arya, and Podrick, and to get the hell away from Cersei Lannister, _she wanted Jaime._

“Keep going, Tarth, I need to get him back home.” 

Brienne restarted the car with hands trembling every more furiously. “What did you do?” 

“I saved you,” Cersei said simply. “You won’t be able to go back, I don’t think. The curse is over with.” 

Brienne twisted her hands on the wheel, taking a few deep breaths. “Why would you do that?” 

“I needed to save my family, they’ve been mad over you and Jaime for nearly two hundred years.”

Brienne took that in. _It made sense_ , she supposed, not that she had always been the focus of these things, but someone like her. Another unfortunate girl who got cursed by Tywin or any one of his ancestors and she was their next victim. Though, if it were true, it must be the best kept secret in the country. 

“Why would Jaime help you?” 

“Destroy it? He doesn’t know anything about what I know, Father could never trust him with it, you see. But, he thought he could save you if he stopped you from being able to go back. I didn’t think he was actually going to _pass out,_ I thought it more likely that you had to be with him.” 

“So did I,” Brienne replied softly, wondering at it as she guided the car through a sharp turn onto the connector road. 

“I’m sorry it happened to him, my father always suspected it would, but we weren’t sure until the accident. I suppose I’m sorry it happened to you too.”

Brienne bristled at the half-hearted apology, or at least, gesture of understanding. But, she just nodded and resigned herself to ask Jaime whenever he woke up… if he ever did. If the accident had something to do with this, she might kill him herself for not sharing just how that had come to pass, kiss or no kiss.

They spent the rest of the drive in silence, at least directed at each other. Cersei tried a few times to talk Jaime into waking up, but Brienne didn’t care to hear what she said. She was too busy trying to piece together what Cersei had said; things about her father, about Tyrion, about her, and Jaime. When it happened, how it happened, how painful it must have been. 

_There are too many pieces,_ she thought. _And I’m not clever enough to understand it._

Before she knew it, she was stopped before the grand doors to new Casterly Rock, and Cersei was trying to pull Jaime out of the back seat. 

Brienne stepped out of the car, hand pressing against the roof of the car to support her shaky legs. “What now?” 

Cersei stepped away, letting Jaime’s unconscious form slump back against the seats. “We need to get him upstairs, and we can’t be seen, of course.” 

Brienne frowned. “Why?” 

“If you’ve forgotten, my siblings and I are all suspected of murder at the moment, so I’d rather it not get any more complicated.” Cersei snapped. “There’s a back entrance around the corner that leads to Jaime’s room… eventually. You’ll have to carry him again.” 

Brienne took a deep breath and pushed past her. It took a moment to get Jaime in a position where she could pick him up. A moment too long according to Cersei as she sighed and glanced around conspicuously. 

_Oh, honestly,_ Brienne thought. It wasn’t that their predicament would be easy to explain, but it wasn’t quite difficult either. And if _every_ Lannister save Jaime knew about this in great detail, as Cersei seemed to be implying, it would be easier still, if deeply unpleasant for her. 

Jaime was heavier than she remembered, but her arms must be weak from all their shaking. Brienne always thought that when truly terrible things happened, she’d be overcome with adrenaline to get her through it. But that didn’t seem to be the case now. 

Cersei didn’t say anything as they made their way inside, directing her with jerks of her head. They entered through a door half-hidden behind a bush and Cersei switched on her torch. They were in a long narrow hallway that led straight in front of them, completely devoid of doors, turns, or furnishings. Cersei started down it, hurrying without checking to see if Brienne was following her. 

A few hundred feet down the corridor the corner let off into a tightly winding staircase that was nearly impossible to navigate with Jaime in her arms. When she reached the top, Cersei was leaning against the wall, a bored expression on her face. 

Brienne figured they must have gone up three or four storeys but she’d lost count of the landings she passed long ago. She didn’t recognize the hallway beyond either, in the faint glow of the torch; she’d never come this way to Jaime’s room before. 

“We’re on the other side of the family apartments.” Cersei explained, pointing the torch across the way at a grand door. “Those were my father’s quarters. And those were mine,” She moved the beam of light down the hallway to point out another door. “Jaime’s is across the great hall with Tyrion’s.” 

Brienne was faintly aware of that, but listened nonetheless, she sounded like she was leading up to something. 

“The point is, there are a lot of security measures so stick close to me,” 

Brienne frowned. “Just tell me your father didn’t put traps in this hallway,” 

“Gods, be quiet.” Cersei slipped into the hallway, hugging the wall for a couple dozen feet before moving to the center of the hallway, then the opposite side. Brienne stuck close to her, weaving across the hallway in what she could only assume were the blindspots of security cameras, or motion detectors. Skirting the edge of the mezzanine of the great hall until they reached the opposite hallway of Tyrion and Jaime’s rooms. 

If she was smarter, she might have ran off from Cersei and gone to Tyrion immediately, though it was not something that occurred to her until much later. 

Cersei unlocked the door to Jaime’s room and flicked the light switch beside the door. The light stung Brienne’s eyes after half-an-hour in the mostly-dark back corridors of the estate. 

She moved through the front room to the bedroom, leaving Cersei behind and _finally_ setting Jaime down on the bed. She sank down on the edge of the bed beside him and buried her face in her hands. Somewhere on the other side of the room, she could hear Cersei moving around. 

“What are we going to do?” She asked, not lifting her head to see what her unlikely ally was up to. 

“Wait,” Cersei said flatly. “You’ll have to stay here of course since the doorway doesn’t exist anymore, maybe you can help him.” 

Brienne highly doubted that was true. But she nodded nonetheless, lifting her head to look at Cersei; she had settled in a chair near Jaime’s fireplace and was flicking through a book. 

Brienne turned away, too tired to ask more questions or speculate a minute longer. She stretched out at Jaime’s side, pushing him closer to the center of the bed to create a space wide enough to lie down. Her hand curled underneath the cheek she pressed to the pillow and her legs were uncomfortably poker-straight so as not to take up an inappropriate amount of space, particularly under Cersei’s watch. 

Brienne wished she would leave; it felt indecent to reach for Jaime, or even look towards him under someone else’s watch. It wasn’t as though Cersei knew or even cared what had happened. But Brienne felt different, nerves back to tingling, white-hot and icy cold; a strange ache in her chest, worried, desperate, and half-wishing she could be back under Storm’s End to be where he was. f

She managed to doze off, tired as she was; she had no idea how long it was before something was waking her again. 

A sharp draw of breath, movement beside her on the mattress; a change in bearing that startled her awake. 

She had scarcely opened her eyes and met his before his hand caught the back of her neck and pulled her close, kissing her desperately. 

He drew back slightly, eyes fluttering open again. “ _Brienne,”_

She opened her mouth; a thousand questions trying to spill out at once, but not a one of them got the chance to win the battle before he drew her in again for another, deeper kiss. Between Jaime’s frantic movements, her lack of practice, and the emotion that began to sink in threatening her with a sob in the back of her throat; it was a truly terrible kiss. Uncoordinated and clumsy and demanding. Not that she cared in the slightest. 

Cersei cleared her throat and Brienne pulled away, cheeks certainly aflame. She had forgotten she was there entirely. 

Jaime groaned and pushed himself upright, beside her. “What are you-- get the _fuck_ out,”

“Absolutely not, we have things we need to--” 

“Did you do it?” He asked, not specifying what he meant by that. Though, Brienne was pretty sure it had something to do with the wildfire. 

Cersei rolled her eyes. “Of course, I did. But--” 

“Then we’ll discuss the rest of it later. Trust me,” Jaime’s eyes darted towards her for a moment. “I have plenty of things I’d like to say about it. Now leave,” 

Cersei waited a moment longer, something unspoken passed between her and Jaime through twin glares. Then, she turned and marched out of the room not offering the last word, though Brienne braced herself for whatever insult she might hurl back at them. Nothing came. 

The outer door shut and the sound of her footsteps faded in moments, Jaime flopped back against the bed, reaching for her again, gathering her close to his chest. She set her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes; she shouldn’t sleep when they had so much to talk about. But the surge of emotion that came over her when Jaime woke her was fading quickly to warm relief. 

“What happened to you two?” He asked. “You’re not hurt, are you?” 

“I think the wildfire would have killed me if I was there,” Brienne replied dryly. “I’m fine.” 

Jaime winced. “It would be a bit on the nose, given what happened to Lady Brienne.” 

Brienne didn’t respond to that, instead pressing her nose into his neck. “What happened to you?” 

“I was captured, by one of Melisandre’s cohorts. Of course, they recognized me, so they had a few questions, though I think it convinced them that there was hope for whatever spell they attempted. We didn’t understand each other very well.” 

“How did you--” 

Jaime shuddered. “I managed to get the grate off the window in the room they put me in. I don’t remember anything else, but it had been days and I had to get out of there because of what Cersei was planning. Though, it seems I was never in any danger of getting stuck.” 

He ran his hand over her back; tension and lingering fear drained out of her, leaving just a feeling of weightlessness. Though she couldn’t disappear into it, there was more they had to talk about, for starters the kisses he was pressing to her hair and face and the hand she had rested on his shoulder. 

“Jaime,” She muttered, feeling him shiver as she spoke into his neck. 

Jaime hummed in response sounding reluctant to be asked more questions. 

“I can’t, well, I just--” Brienne stammered, not sure how to ask the question _what the hell is happening here?_ without sounding presumptuous, or idiotic. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to hear the answer in case it was something like; _well, we’re alive, aren’t we?_

She wasn’t stupid enough to think it was actually the most probable answer, but the most probable answer was somewhat improbable itself. She couldn’t imagine what it would sound like for him to say, in all seriousness, _I like you. I do want to be with you._

“Cersei was saying strange things, when we were at the ruins.” Brienne said instead, changing tactic entirely. “Is there something I should know?” 

Jaime shook his head, dropping another kiss just between her eyebrows. “What I know of it is that my sister wanted to stop my father, so she did, and then--” 

Brienne stiffened, suddenly she’d never been more awake in her life. “ _What?_ Gods, Jaime, you can’t just drop on me that your sister,” she paused, remembering something Cersei had said about the surveillance and mouthed the words _‘murdered your father’._ “And expect me to go to just _move on_.” 

Jaime’s wrist ran along her back, pressing her closer to him again. “I already told you I thought she did it, you already knew we were all completely off our rockers here.” 

“That really makes me want to leave you here, so you might want to watch--” 

Jaime caught her under the chin, gently drawing her in for another kiss stopping her from finishing the sentence. “No, I’m the only sane Lannister, I promise,” 

Brienne laughed, tipping her forehead to press against his. “And what about the explosion? You did that.” 

Jaime bit his lip and raised his eyes to hers in shame. “Yes, she wanted to stop the legacy of Lannisters being obsessed with the whole thing. And, well, I was afraid of it. She didn’t have a hard time gaining me as an accomplice.” 

“Only she didn't think you’d actually…” 

“Yes, and I’m so sorry you got dragged into it again. I was stupid about it,” 

Brienne let out a sigh that was half a laugh. “Jaime, it’s really okay. I wasn’t that scared,” The second part was a lie, she had been terrified until they were back here, safe and sound. 

“You’re a terrible liar. But, really, don’t worry about anything else my sister said, she’s paranoid. Most of the things she’s ever said aren’t based in reality.” 

“Okay,” 

Jaime kissed her again, smiling into it. “You’re still worrying, I can practically hear it.” 

Brienne started to nod and drew in a deep breath as though to exhale and shake off lingering thoughts. Instead, in a sudden moment of boldness, she blurted. “Jaime, what is _this?”_

He looked at her in confusion for a moment that quickly morphed into an expression of sadness. “I _like_ you?” 

He sounded like he wasn’t sure it was the right answer. She wasn’t sure what the right answer was either, but it was pretty close judging by the funny flip her stomach did. She almost said something pathetic like _really?_ or _why?_ but quickly thought better of it. But, then she had nothing to say. 

“Romantically.” Jaime corrected. “I’ve wanted to do this for weeks. Could you truly not tell? Not even after Winterfell? I was practically begging you to pay attention to me.” 

Brienne felt a twinge of guilt. It wasn’t that she _hadn’t_ noticed anything, she distinctly remembered wondering when it was going to turn out he was up to something horrible. Still, she couldn’t dispel the thought now which would probably make him angry. 

“I’m… all messed up.” She said instead, quietly, hoping he’d remember enough of their conversations to understand. “I know it’s difficult.” 

Jaime gave her an odd, sad sort of look. “Oh gods, Brienne, that’s not true. I was so horrible to you at first, that was a stupid thing to say,” 

And what could she say to that? _Just forget it?_ She still thought about the things he used to say to her enough that it could hardly be counted as forgetting it. Though, it was more in her own moments of doubt than out of anger at him, which it wasn’t fair to blame on him and-- _oh gods, I must be the worst at this._

Would that he would just kiss her again and stop her brain from grinding in agonizing circles. 

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do _now,”_ She groaned, trying not to look at him as she did. 

And he kissed her again. And she had been right, she couldn’t think of any more questions when his lips moved against hers like _that._

His neck was bent at an odd angle to reach her, so he sort of turned on his side and leaned in so that the half of him not pressed against the mattress was lying _on_ her. She dragged her hand along his chest, up his neck to his check to draw him closer. When he pulled back, she felt distinctly like she couldn’t catch her breath and the tug of something low in her stomach. 

“You don’t have to _do_ anything,” Jaime said, lips grazing her cheek as he spoke. “Are you tired? We can sleep and talk more when we’re more awake.” 

For all her exhaustion just a little while ago, she was suddenly very _not_ tired. She shook her head, “Are you?” 

“Gods, no, you forget, I’ve been sitting around in a cell for days.” 

So she guided him back in, with a hand on his cheek and kissed him. Her nose bumped his at first, unpracticed as she was at-- well, _trying_ to kiss someone. 

Jaime laughed and positioned himself better, leaning over her a little, with his right arm draped over her and pressed into the mattress to support himself. 

Brienne could think of little else but his lips on hers, on her neck, and jaw. His left hand in her hair, fingers brushing along the back of her neck and tugging her ever closer until her heart was fluttering so much she could scarcely catch her breath. 

Though, she did think, was slowly getting more accustomed to it-- to kissing, at least. To all the _mechanics_ of it that she had technically known without understanding, what to do with her tongue, her _teeth,_ her hands. It was strange, she thought, but more than that, it was _nice,_ and she couldn’t bring herself to care beyond that. 

Jaime pulled away, twisting slightly so he lay more on the bed, on his stomach beside her than on top of her, still pressing little kisses to her lips. “Brienne, I--” 

She turned onto her side, facing him, chasing his lips when he leaned away. “What?” 

Jaime groaned, arm tightening over her back, drawing her against him. “Nevermind,” 

He kissed her again and the few questions she managed to think up slipped away as his hand moved along her arms, and waist; his kisses were deeper, teeth catching on her lips as he pulled back, drawing soft gasps from her lips. 

Her hands went to the strange string that held the top of his shirt together. She _had_ known, she supposed, exactly where this was going, still off somewhere in the part of her brain that still work, she was shocked. Still, he unlaced it and he pulled back to shrug it off before leaning back in, his left hand brushed over the small buttons holding the front of her dress together. 

She shivered. 

He scoffed. “Ridiculous clothes, how could we have ever thought this was a good system?” 

Brienne pulled on the back of his neck, drawing his attention back to her face. “Just… move it aside,” 

Jaime slipped one of the buttons through its hole and drew his hand away, brushing down her torso and sending a thousand spikes of electricity through her, eliciting a small sound that she figured would probably be embarrassing later. 

“Brienne…” He protested. “We don’t have to, I mean, you know that--” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Brienne swallowed some comment about how he’d probably prefer to see her _clothed,_ and kissed him again before moving him aside a little so she could undo her own buttons. When the dress was unbuttoned to her waist, she shrugged it off and kicked it to the side, fighting off the urge to grab it and pulled it back over herself. She was odd and angular without clothes, no shape to speak of, she’d always thought. 

But, Jaime didn’t stare, instead, he pressed her back against the pillows, sending the thought from her mind as he trailed kisses across her lips and face. He settled beside her, drawing her in with an arm around her waist. “You’re scared,” 

Brienne bit her lip. “I’ve never really… gotten this far,” 

Jaime pressed her forehead to her temple sending another sort of thrill through her. “You can change your mind, if you want. We have time,” 

“So can you,” 

Jaime smiled as he kissed her again and moved back a little. “You’re beautiful,” 

Brienne didn’t respond, instead wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him down over her, kissing his forehead, his jaw, down his neck, not really have a plan for what she was doing, but doing it anyways. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she worried he could tell how woefully uninformed she was for what to do. His hand moved between them, trying to undo the tie of his pants-- which he eventually had to draw away from her to take off. She sat with him, knees pulled to her chest and arms wrapped around herself, loath to lay out, nearly naked on his bed without so much as a sheet over her. 

He sat back and looked at her anxiously. “Are you okay?”

“What if I’m bad at it?” _Gods,_ she could’ve hit _herself_ for how laughable she sounded.

Jaime shrugged, unbothered. “It’s been years for me too, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to impress you.” 

Brienne wanted to ask, _badly,_ but didn’t. Instead she uncurled one arm and extended a hand to him. “That’s good, then,” she decided. “No expectations,” 

Jaime nearly _launched_ himself at her, pushing her back at the pillows and kissing her firmly, slowly, leaning closer when her arm wrapped around his neck. The hand he hand on her neck moved down, over her chest and stomach to rest against her hip where it seemed to stop in wait. 

Though not for long. 

*

She woke, the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon, which must mean she’d only been asleep for a short while. Jaime was lying behind her, arms around her torso, face pressing against her neck. And she was wearing the _ridiculous_ shirt Cersei had given him for _the trip._

_Should I feel different?_ She didn’t, not really. She was warm, and still half asleep, and it had been _nice._ Very nice. If she was even still trying to not be in love with Jaime, it definitely wasn’t working. But, she supposed there were still things she had to worry about, still a weight on her shoulders to keep her in reality. 

She closed her eyes, ready to fall back to sleep. But another thought occurred to her, doing away with pleasant drowsiness. _Sansa and Arya._

The thought propelled her-- somewhat begrudgingly, out of bed with some strategic maneuvering to not wake Jaime. She rose, and showered, and dressed in clothes borrowed from Jaime. _He might mind,_ she _thought, but not as much as I minded putting on that dress again._

When she was done, she slipped out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind her and creeping over to the telephone on the table beside the couch. She dialled the number for their room. 

Podrick answered, immediately asking after her, voice eager and nervous. “Brienne?” 

“Pod, it’s me.” 

Pod gasped. “Oh thank the _gods,_ Sansa and Arya have been beside themselves, it was all Tyrion and I could do to stop the City Guard from getting involved. Where the hell are you?” 

“Jaime’s,” Bizarrely, she wondered if she sounded strange saying that. _Can people tell? Was I supposed to say that?_ Not that it was even close to the issue on hand. She pressed on. “Listen, I can’t explain it now, on the pho-- well, you know.” 

“A-are you _safe?_ Gods, we’ve been so worried, you’ve been gone for, like, two days and no one was answering at Jaime’s for _hours,”_ He was rambled, so, she cleared her throat to silence him. 

“I’m fine. I promise I’ll explain. Do you know the cliff beyond the rose garden?” 

“Yes?” 

“Meet me there this afternoon, at twelve-thirty, with the others. But don’t be obvious about it.” 

Podrick hesitated. “Why can’t you come back now? Are you sure there’s nothing? You’re being... _weird,_ ” 

“I promise, it’s fine, it’s just, we went on another um, _thing_ , last night,” She sounded like a complete idiot, but the paranoia about the walls having ears was getting to her. “I have to talk to Jaime first.” 

She set the phone back in its hook and settled back on the sofa, face pressed into her hands. She didn’t know if she should feel giddy, or horrified with herself, or just plain shocked. Really, she just felt like her mind existed on three, or four, different planes of reality at once and she couldn’t make sense of a one of them in an extremely dizzying sort of way. 

“Brienne?” 

She turned, and Jaime was in the doorway, wrapped in a dressing gown with a look of concern on his face. Her heart clenched in guilt and worry, while, contradictorily, her stomach did an odd little flutter. 

She cleared her throat. “Sorry, I was… calling Sansa, I just… figured she was worried.” 

Jaime nodded. “That’s okay, come here,” 

She did, and allowed him to draw her in with an arm around her waist for a quick kiss before he leaned his head forward to rest on her shoulder. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to--” 

Jaime turned back into his room, dragging her after him. “You’re _fine._ Come now, we’ve barely slept at all. Come back to bed,” 

She did that too.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, sorry, I don't really *do* sex scenes... I never have any idea what to do. Anyways, also sorry for the delay, life has just been super hectic, I'll try to do better next time, I promise! Thanks for reading!  
> -B


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion makes a confession.

Two weeks later found her holed up in the Lannister’s library and all else relatively normal in Lannisport. By relatively normal she meant that, yes, she’d attended Tywin Lannister’s funeral a week past, and yes, there was an ongoing investigation as to _how_ a somewhat abandoned, decrepit ruin had erupted into green flames. And that was on top of the yet ongoing investigation in Tywin’s death. But, otherwise, things were really quite normal. 

And, at least this time around, she was mostly left with a glorious, but an unexpected amount of time to work on her own things. Particularly because Tyrion had taken off for a few days to interview someone with no explanation. So, Sansa had mentioned just leaving a bit early for King’s Landing themselves, but her only ally in that suggestion was Pod. 

They would be returning soon enough, classes would begin again at the university in three weeks, and Tyrion would have to be back by then. And Jaime was packing to go back with him when he went. None of which seemed quite real yet, and honestly, she doubted that would change once she was home again. 

That he was, in his own words, “following her to King’s Landing”. 

_Don’t be stupid, you’re following your brother._ She had replied. 

_Oh Brienne, I don’t think that was ever really the plan._

And he seemed to be serious, incredulous as she felt whenever she thought of it. 

It wasn’t like he was giving her a good reason not to trust him. Jaime was always around, now. In the library while she worked, or dragging her around the estate, or into Lannisport. Even, in a rather silly gesture, climbing all the way to the apartment she shared with her siblings and Podrick every night when Sansa reprimanded her for being gone for three days. 

She’d told him as much; _You don’t_ have _to be up here. I could just as well go downstairs if you… wanted… oh, you know!_

He laughed, like he always did when she couldn’t get the right words out and brushed the concern away. _I prefer it up here, away from my father’s ghost. That’s not very romantic._

_Oh, and sharing walls with my intern and my sisters is?_

_Yes, obviously. They’re extra protection between you and the rest of my family._

Which was sweet of him. She had also saw very little of the other Lannisters with the exception of Tywin’s funeral, and wondered how much of that was Jaime warning them to stay away from her, Pod, and her sisters. 

On the other hand, her family, Arya and Sansa were surprisingly excited about the whole thing. Arya mostly because she enjoyed seeing how many dirty jokes it took for Brienne to yell at her to stop it. Sansa because she had been waiting to talk about Brienne’s love life, apparently since they were in high school, not that it had ever gotten more eventful than Hyle and his stupid friends. Brienne was still never quite inclined to tell her much if not pressed for details. 

And if she was honest, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a joke, or if not, very, _very_ temporary. 

She shuddered at the thought. Jaime was a good person, he wouldn’t, at least she thought he wouldn’t do anything as horrible as it being a joke. But she didn’t trust herself. And what’s more, she doubted that even as doting as he was now that it would last long in King’s Landing. Perhaps it would be someone else, or he would tell her that their schedules had become too demanding, or whatever other thing he would tell her once he realized he had no business being with someone like her. 

She couldn’t shake the feeling when she was alone with her thoughts. But she was weak, she thought, she was also _ridiculously_ happy. Fears melted away easily enough when he was near; kissing her, holding her, pulling her away from her work for a moment, not letting her get out of bed in the morning. 

_Brushing his hand through her hair._

She jumped and looked up from the notes she was scribbling to herself about whatever corrections needed making on her paper. Jaime was leaning over her shoulder, hand on the ridge where her neck met her shoulders, fingers moving across her hair. 

She relaxed under his touch and looked back to her work, a smile playing over her lips in spite of her decidedly-less pleasant train of thought just moments before. “What do you want, Lannister?” 

Jaime kissed her; first above the ear and then on her cheek. “I was looking for my girlfriend, Brienne? Very tall, pretty eyes? Calls me _Jaime_ by now…” 

She swatted at him, turning all the way around in her chair until her forehead was nearly pressed against his. “I might have seen her around, why are you asking?” 

“Well, I was just wondering if she, perhaps, wanted to set aside her _very_ important looking notes and go outside for a bit? I’ve been waiting for hours to get her attention.” 

“These are actually very important notes, and it’s only been three hours since my… lunch break,” Brienne stumbled over the words, cursing the strange embarrassment that didn’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. 

“But, you finished draft five yesterday, which I think is cause enough to celebrate.” 

She caved; even she wasn’t much inclined to sit on an uncomfortable wooden chair, in a drafty room when she could be outside doing whatever it was she was being dragged off to do. Particularly when Jaime was looking at her with mischievous eyes and a smile that just barely curled the edges of his mouth. _Besides_ , she thought to herself, _there’s no reason this can’t be done tomorrow._

Still, she sighed and leaned back against the desk as though considering her options. “I suppose I could put this aside, though this better be good, _Lannister.”_

“Like I would ever--” 

Brienne raised her eyebrows, gnawing on the back of her lip to stop herself from taking whatever was going on too far. But Jaime’s eyes just sparked with surprise and he kissed her. 

“Seems Arya is rubbing off on you. We just have to get out of here.” 

She stood, allowing him to keep a hold of her hand and pull her towards the door, all the while talking about something that Podrick had said to him that afternoon that was simply too funny. Some story about Tyrion, she thought, but she had to admit she was a bit distracted; watching him, his hair shining in patches of sunlight and the way his smile changed and played across his face as he spoke. 

They ended up at the cove. The one where they’d come the last _significant_ time Jaime had dragged her away from work. The time when she’d heard his story about Aerys and started to change her mind about him. Which might’ve been a sweet sort of memory now if she wasn’t so afraid that he brought her here so no one could hear them while he told some other terrible story… again. 

She paced away from him towards the rocks; the rowboat was still there, covered with the grey tarp and undoubtedly, more large spiders. “Jaime,” she called. “What are we doing here? What’s wrong?” 

The sun was sinking in the sky, casting a beam of orange light where it shown through the entrance to the cove, rippling with the slight movement of the water. She had to squint to see out across the water. 

“Seven, nothing’s wrong, Brienne. Come over here.” Jaime was sitting on a spread blanket… or jacket, she couldn’t quite tell, head tilted to look up at her. 

She crossed back to him and sat; careful not to kick sand onto the blanket as she did, tucking her knees to her chest. Her arms curled around each other and leaned on her legs, she propped her chin against them, turning to look at Jaime. “Why are we here then?” 

Jaime’s expression softened. “To hang out, you know we can do that outside of the library and your bedroom.” 

Brienne felt a smile play across her face in spite of her nerves. “I took you to Lannisport two days ago, and we go to the gardens almost every day,” 

Jaime shrugged. “And here, we’re all by ourselves,” 

“Yes, hence the reason why I think you’re going to tell me more bad news or murder me, who knows, it’s what I thought last time,” 

Jaime surged forward and kissed her, hand pulling on the back of his neck as he leaned back, stretching out on the blanket. She had to unfold her legs and turn halfway over to follow his lead, bumping her nose against his as she went. 

Jaime snickered. 

“That was your own fault,” Brienne muttered, drawing her chin to her neck to avoid him as he leaned up, trying to reach her again. 

Jaime let go of her neck to trail his index finger over the top of her nose. “So it is,” 

Brienne rolled her eyes and twisted to the side so she was lying beside him, rather than across him. She had to readjust a bit to rest her head against his shoulder, sliding down so her feet were in the sand. 

“Are you tired?” 

“Not really,” She replied. “Just a little cold,” 

Jaime huffed, wrapping his right arm around her waist and pressing her against him. It didn’t really make her much warmer, but she wasn’t anywhere near uncomfortable enough to protest. They were quiet for a long time, so long that she started to wonder if he’d fallen asleep by the evenness of his breath. 

Her mind wandered lazily, things she had to do in the next few weeks, things that had happened recently, and drifting back as it had often done over the last few weeks to Lady Brienne. She wasn’t sure why, but every time she thought about it, she felt like she was grieving-- for someone she hadn’t even spoken to, silly as it was. So, she tried not to dwell on it, but of course that only made her think of it more. 

  
Jaime stirred a little. “Penny for your thoughts?” 

“What a cliche, Lannister,” Brienne teased, her words slurring and mingling together slightly. “I was just thinking about Lady Brienne,” 

Jaime hummed. “You know, I never did manage to finish telling you about that dream I had,” 

Brienne groaned. “Can we really even call them that?” 

“Well, the beach was a little bit like this, and Lady Brienne was very, very concerned that her parents would be angry that she was missing, you two are more alike than you’d think,” 

Brienne scoffed. “I doubt that,” 

Jaime pressed on. “So like I said, Ser Jaime was saying, _Brienne, I had a meeting with your parents this afternoon,_ and she completely panicked, apologizing, saying all these things about how whatever they said, wasn’t true. But, it was. They had told Ser Jaime that Brienne would certainly say yes, if he asked,” 

Brienne rolled away from him and propped her head up on her hand, eyebrows raised in a silent _go on._

“So, Ser Jaime said _I followed you to Tarth, you know, and I find myself quite wanting to stay,”_

Brienne sucked in a breath. “I bet she didn’t understand that,” 

Jaime shook his head, staring at the sky with eyes squinting in a silent sort of laughter. “She said something like _I’m sure my father would be honored to have you stay on, what would you do?_ So, Ser Jaime got quite discouraged by the answer for a moment, and apologized for being presumptuous.” 

Brienne shook her head. “How good of him,” 

“If Lady Brienne didn’t press him to see what was wrong, I doubt he would’ve done it, but eventually, he got out _I was thinking, I would be honored if you would allow me to stay here as your husband,”_

“And then she cried?” 

Jaime shook his head. “No, she thought he was kidding her, so then he told her _I love you, you’re the best person I’ve ever met. I cherish talking with you, sparring with you, arguing with you. You’re honest, and stubborn, and intelligent. You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, I’d wake to no others for the rest of my days if you agreed. I could never kid, my lady, I love you and I’d never be less than honest with you. But I’d understand if you sent me away,”_

“And then she cried?” Brienne guessed, feeling tears prick at her own eyes, though admittedly more at his tone than his words. The sound seemed to carry a thousand unspoken things that could not be transcribed into words. 

Jaime nodded. “She did.” 

Brienne let her head drop back to his shoulder. “I can’t say I’m surprised, he said quite a lot, even if it wasn’t particularly poetic.”

Jaime shook his head. “Personally, I would have said _more,_ but you'll see--” 

Brienne sat halfway up. “Jaime!” 

“ _Someday,”_ Jaime finished. “For now, we can just…” 

He rolled her onto her back, right arm wrapped around her neck beneath her, supporting him as he hovered over her. 

“Watch the sunset?” She teased. 

Jaime frowned. “Well, now that wasn’t what I had in mind, but I suppose that--” 

She didn’t wait for him to finish to pull him closer, silencing him easily. 

* 

She woke to the sound of rustling papers and sunlight stinging against her eyes. She rolled over, tucking her face against the pillow, her fingers grasping at the edge of the blanket, drawing it to her chest. 

Jaime was sitting up beside her, holding a stack of papers that she quickly recognized as one of her older drafts by the slanting handwriting in the margins. “Good morning,” 

Brienne sat up, pressing the sheet to her chest with one hand, grasping at the papers with the other. “Why are you _reading_ that? Can’t sleep?” 

Jaime jerked it away from her, holding it over his head. “I’m curious! And besides, I was more trying to read it,” 

“But, why?” 

Jaime looked at her as though that were a preposterous thing to say. “Because it's important to you, come on, read it to me?”

Brienne leaned against his shoulder. “I’ve already explained it to you, I’m sure you’ll be bored.” 

“I will not!” Jaime drew back, his eyebrows drawing together. “Why, my lady, are you too tired to read it?” 

Brienne groaned. “Give it here, just don’t call me that again.” 

_He’ll be asleep soon enough._ She thought, clearing her throat, “ _Throughout the three decades preceding what is now colloquially known as the Great War, the Targaryen dynasty…”_

She made it through three pages of before glancing back at him, pretty certain that he had fallen asleep. But, he was watching her, eyebrows still drawn together with an odd soft look in his eyes. 

“Why did you stop?” 

Brienne snorted. “Are you even listening or are you just… watching me?” 

“I can manage both, I should hope.” Jaime tilted forward slightly and pressed his lips to hers before drawing away. 

Brienne caught him at the nape of his neck to keep him from going far. “You know, I have to present this at some point, you can listen to it then, I don’t want to put you through this.” 

Jaime ignored her. “You’re a good wr--” 

The door slammed open and Sansa stormed in. “There you are,” 

“Can--” Brienne croaked, her voice dying on the end of the word. She was torn between being annoyed and being worried, but so far being embarrassed was outpacing both of the better options. “Can you give us a second?” 

Sansa’s head jerked back, her eyes fluttering as though the mere suggestion was preposterous. “No, we have a _big_ problem, well, Jaime has a big problem. And we have to leave.” 

Jaime tensed, but made no move to get up. “What’s happened?” 

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Please come downstairs, and _get dressed!”_

She darted out again, leaving the door open behind her. 

“Any chance she was just feeling dramatic this morning?”

“No, she’s not Arya,” Brienne paused, brain turning in inconclusive circles trying to piece together what was happening. “ _Jaime,_ what--?” 

“I don’t know,” Jaime dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Here move over, I’ll get your robe for you.” 

* 

The assortment of people gathered at the bottom of the staircase was truly strange. Off to one side, Tyrion and Cersei stood side-by-side, both glowering. Sansa was sitting on the last step alone, with her head in her hands while Arya, Podrick, and of all people, Gendry the gardener’s son _,_ stood off to the side, clearly trying to look inconspicuous. 

“It’s about time,” Cersei snapped. “Didn’t Sansa impress upon you that we’re under _just a bit_ of time pressure?” 

“Get on with it then,” Jaime sat on the step beside Sansa, nearly collapsing into the spot. Sansa grabbed his arm to stop him from knocking back against the stair above them. 

“ _Tyrion,”_ Cersei began, pointed, nearly spitting the name. “Turned me in, to the City Guard.” 

There was a long moment of silence in which Brienne was horrifyingly sure of what she meant by that but, along with everyone else was hoping against hope she was wrong about it. 

“Turned you in for what?” Gendry blurted, pausing when Arya elbowed him in the stomach and he remembered he wasn’t really supposed to be there. 

“I’m sorry,” Cersei said sharply. “ _Who the fuck are you?”_

“Why?” Jaime interrupted, not allowing Gendry to continue, sounding like the wind had been knocked out of him. “Why would you do that?” 

Tyrion glared at him. “Because she _killed_ someone.” 

“Oh please,” Jaime scoffed. “She basically did you a favor.” 

Brienne started, of all the things she thought someone might say about the whole thing, that wasn’t even close to one of them. Not that she exactly blamed him for saying it, but _gods._

Sansa was staring at her with an incredulous expression, a silent, _Really, Brienne? How can this be your choice?_ And honestly, she didn’t have an answer for that, she supposed, she had forgotten or ignored the multiple warning signs. Though, she supposed Sansa wouldn’t be quite forgiving about that at the moment. 

“He just doesn’t want to lose all the credit on his project with the _curse.”_ Cersei jerked her chin towards her and Jaime. “And I was going to make that happen.” 

“What project?” Sansa asked with a wavering voice, reminding Brienne that there was something very wrong with the sentence. 

“The one you came here for, you idiot.” Cersei snapped. “Don’t give me that look, none of us ever bought that you were coming here for the library.” 

“We were!” Podrick said with an earnestness that was admittedly helpful, though Brienne wanted to snap at him to stay out of it. He and Arya didn’t deserve this. 

Cersei scoffed and rounded on Tyrion. “Gods, do they even know? I know we weren’t telling Jaime, but really? The rest of them were never told?” 

Jaime was looking at her now as though he were just realizing something. The crease between his eyebrows and inward curl of his lips made her feel horribly nauseous. 

“I don’t know what…” She began. “I don’t know!” 

Sansa shot to her feet. “What is it? What did you do, Tyrion?” 

“He’s been looking into this since we were teenagers,” Cersei said coldly. “This curse thing wasn’t some mystery for him, he knew all about it, that it would finally work if he could get you two there.” 

“ _You_ cursed us?” Jaime snapped. “What the fuck?” 

“Oh, gods, Jaime, _Melisandre_ cursed you.” 

“She’s dead. She literally has to be dead.” Arya said, sounding horrified by the prospect of her not being dead. “It’s been like two hundred years.” 

“Yes,” Tyrion agreed. “She’s long dead. _Jaime_ isn’t though,” 

Brienne’s hand flew to her mouth, her first and only thought being, _I really shouldn’t scream right now._ But, she really, really felt like it. She stepped backwards, away from the stairs, from Sansa and Jaime, too horrified to keep looking at them really, but more horrified at the prospect of looking away. 

“Brienne, calm down,” He said, face still blank and not understanding. “Tyrion would you just stop being… you, you’re scaring everyone.” 

“ _You’re_ Ser Jaime?” Sansa blurted, hands raising to massage her temples. “ _How is that even possible?”_

Jaime’s head shot up. “No, no I’m not. I think I would know--” 

“If he is, wouldn’t that mean…” Pod trailed off, gesturing helplessly at Brienne. 

Brienne swayed a little where she stood. _No, that would be ridiculous._

“Stop, no!” Arya protested. “Don’t be an idiot, Payne.” 

“No, it’s true.” Cersei managed. “My father knew it was going to be Jaime, though gave up on Jaime ever being able to help after his accident. Tyrion, it seems, didn’t.” 

“Because I don’t care about changing the past,” Tyrion snapped. “I’m not a lunatic like he was. I just wanted to know if it was possible.” 

“ _How, how,”_ Jaime stammered. “How did you find out about it?” 

“Father has documents on it, the whole thing is actually quite well-documented though quite a big secret. Cersei’s read them too, but Father didn’t want you to know about it… for obvious reasons,” 

“They’re not that obvious,” Sansa scoffed. 

“It would make a person crazy, Stark.” Tyrion said shortly, patronizingly. 

“ _So why are you telling them now?”_ __  
  


“Cersei was the one who basically told them! And anyways, if they knew, they might try to stay in the past or something.. Their children were there after all. And then everything would get messed up.” 

Brienne drew in a sharp breath. “Oh my gods,” 

Jaime and Sansa were standing beside her in an instant, Jaime wrapped his arms around her, pressing her head against his neck; Sansa was standing beside him, one hand clutching hers, the other on her shoulder. 

“So why don’t they already know all that?” Arya blurted. “Why did they forget who they were? Sounds like a load of shit to me.” 

“He did just give a pretty solid reason for that, maybe it was part of… whatever this i--” Gendry remarked, then groaned-- probably when Arya hit him again. 

“I don’t know why, I don’t know why _now,_ all the spell says about it is the time being ‘right’, so I suppose it was.” 

“But, Brienne didn’t just suddenly appear here, she was _born,_ and grew up, and--” 

Tyrion shook his head. “She did, in the boat crash, just like Jaime’s accident. When she and her father were leaving Tarth, she nearly died, didn’t she?” 

“Stop,” Sansa muttered, her voice cracking slightly. “That’s nonsense,” 

“It’s not, it’s all upstairs in King Tywin’s personal records, exactly how Melisandre described it to them afterward. We can go have a look right now--” 

Cersei cleared her throat. “No, there isn’t time. _Jaime,_ come on,” 

Jaime moved away from her. “Tyrion, why?” 

“He knew I would’ve told about this whole mess, and he, Varys, and _Petyr Baelish_ have been trying to build this study for years.” 

Jaime’s hand tensed on her shoulder, the only place he was still holding on to her. “Would you have? You would’ve looked insane,” 

“Oh _please,_ it’s more believable than your being acquitted for Targaryen.” Cersei snapped. “Yes, I would have. I don’t agree with Father’s methods but our goals have always been the same.” 

“Oh, you actually _are_ insane,” Arya blurted, prompting Tyrion to laugh. 

“We’re leaving,” Sansa said coldly, pulling on Brienne’s arm. She stumbled towards Sansa unyielding, pushing Jaime aside. Still holding Brienne’s arm, she rounded on Tyrion. “I can’t believe you, how could you do this to her?”

“I was going to tell you, but Brienne couldn’t know until it was done,” 

“Then you should have told us after the first time, not let it go on,” Sansa retorted. “We’re leaving, and should you choose to return to King’s Landing, and to school, stay the hell away from us.” 

Sansa started towards the stairs, Brienne didn’t resist being pulled after her until they were halfway up the stairs. 

“Wait,” She turned on her heel; everyone was frozen in their places still, looking at each other in uncertainty. “Galladon and Arianne, what do your _records_ say about them?” 

Tyrion looked up at her, looking deeply shaken. “They died on that boat, I’m sorry,” 

Jaime’s face crumpled and he spun around to not face her. Her own eyes stung so she closed them, a pair of tears leaked out from beneath them and she had to bite hard on her lower lip to keep in the accompanying sob. She looked back up at Tyrion and nodded once; it was the last thing she ever wanted to hear from him, she thought. 

Sansa pulled on her arm. “Podrick! Arya! Let’s _go.”_

Brienne followed Sansa back to the room, left numb with the vague beginnings of a headache. 

*

She sat on her bed, staring blankly at the suitcase Sansa had packed for her and left on the floor. She could hear drawers and doors slamming in the next rooms over as her companions packed in a flurry. Still, she was paralyzed and dazed. 

_Brienne, it’s all right. You’re still you, and we still need you._ Sansa had urged in the brief moments she’d taken to comfort her before kicking everyone into action. She’d decided that they would go, stay the night at an inn in Lannisport if there wasn’t another train to King’s Landing until the morning. And Brienne didn’t have the energy or space of mind to protest. 

The door creaked open and Jaime stepped in, expression pale and haunted and mirroring how she felt and probably looked. Brienne hadn’t found it in herself to feel anything since leaving the hall. But it returned in sudden, searing pain to look at Jaime’s expression. 

She opened her mouth to say something but whatever she was going to say was drowned out by a sob. She looked away, burying her face in her hands, elbows digging painfully into her thighs. 

“Oh Brienne,” For a moment all she heard was his uneven gait across the floor before the mattress depressed beside her and she was pulled against him. “Oh my gods, I’m so sorry.” 

She twisted slightly so she could press her face into his neck and wind her arms around him in return. “Are you okay?” 

Jaime pressed a kiss to her forehead, brushing back the stray hairs sticking to it with gentle fingers. “Yeah, I’ve just had a bit of a shock.” 

Brienne laughed, it was watery and more bitter-sounding than she wanted it to. “Are we still legally married even with the time travel?” She joked. 

Jaime huffed in amusement, even if the sound was a little teary. “I couldn’t say, but if you want a round two…” 

“Very funny,” Brienne tried to laugh at that but it came out more as a sob. “You’ve not known me that long, Jaime.” 

Jaime was quiet for a long moment. “No, though I suppose this explains why I was always so sure about you.” 

“You weren’t.” Brienne reminded him. “Remember two months ago?” 

Jaime sighed. “I knew something was different.” 

Brienne didn’t respond but to tighten her arms around him. She didn’t feel the same way, she _hadn’t_ always known, and she didn’t even know if she knew now. And there was something in the air, the sort of heaviness she’d been dreading the last two weeks. _He’s not coming to King’s Landing._ He’d said nothing of the suitcase, he’d barely cast a glance at it or given any other indication that he knew what they were doing and that he planned to do something else. But it was there in his pained voice and the tension in his arms. 

Given whatever the hell Tyrion had just told them, the realization hurt a lot more.

“We’re leaving tonight.” She murmured, fingers curling around his shoulder as if holding him there would keep him around. “Sansa just can’t stomach the idea of staying, not after all of it.” 

Jaime nodded. “What will happen with your work?” 

Brienne shrugged, not bothering to pretend like there was some way that they would patch it up with Tyrion. “There are procedures for getting reassigned to another professor. I’m sure we’ll come up with something.” 

Jaime pulled her close. “Brienne, you know-- I’ll-- everything that he did to Cersei, I can’t let that happen, I have to help her.” 

“I know,” Brienne said quietly, pulling away with her arms still draped loosely around his waist. “You’re a good person, Jaime Lannister,” 

Tears welled in his eyes again. “Aiding and abetting the woman who killed my father, that doesn’t quite fit the definition.” 

“She doesn't quite deserve what Tyrion wants coming for her.” Brienne said, and it was true. If there was anyone-- other than her and Jaime, who was fucked over by the Lannister’s madness about all this, it must have been her. At least from the way she talked. “Don’t tell me what you’re going to do.” 

Jaime opened his mouth to protest, but then shut it and nodded. “I’m not leaving you, I’ll-- I’ll come to King’s Landing, when things get sorted. And, I’ll try to call,” 

Brienne shook her head, pressing her eyes shut and pressing out two tears that had settled there. “You don’t have to tell me that, Jaime, it would be easier if you didn’t.” 

Her arms drew away from him and went to wrap around her own torso as a shiver ran through her. Jaime grabbed the hand nearest him and gripped it. 

“I’m serious. Brienne, don’t say that, I need you, you’re the only one who knows, I can’t possibly do this if you’re not around.” 

Brienne nodded, knowing well enough that the feeling would fade with time. He would have his sister, and Cersei knew enough about it to be helpful. This was just the shock talking, not that he would want to hear that at the moment. 

“Then,” She forced herself to give him a watery smile, finding it a little easier when she looked up at his face; tragic and hopeful and affectionate. “You know where to find me.” 

Jaime nodded, then started, as though something had shocked him. He jolted forward and wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her, his left hand cupping her cheek. 

He pulled back a moment, gasping harshly against her lips. “I love you,” 

Brienne opened her mouth to respond, to say it back, but the horrible lump in the back of her throat was back, choking her words out. 

Jaime’s hand moved soothingly over her cheek. “It’s all right,” He hushed, “It’s going to be alright,” 

When he kissed her again, it was softer, and slower but no less desperate. Her hands went to his chest, one sliding over his shoulder and drawing him closer; her lips parted and he deepened the kiss. It was tears-salty and desperate, both of them trying to breathe, not to cry, and hold each other as close as possible. 

And then it was over. 

Jaime drew away, his arm not unwrapping from her waist as he looked at her, agonizing sincerity in his eyes. “I’ll-- I’ll see you soon, _Lady_ Brienne,” 

Brienne made another hysterical, choking sound that stung in the back of her throat. “Goodbye, Jaime,” 

He pressed another kiss to her cheek and stood, his arm finally sliding away as he did. And she couldn’t allow herself to look up as he went, fearing that any more movements would send the hot tears obscuring her vision spilling over her cheeks and Jaime would feel worse and--

She heard him draw in a ragged breath and the door creaked open.

  
And when it closed, she cried; for herself, for Galladon, Arianne, Jaime and his siblings, but mostly for the unspoken yet _very_ loud words lingering in the air: _Goodbye, Brienne._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, okay, there's a little more explaining that happens in the last chapter so just hang on a second :)   
> Thanks for reading!  
> -B


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne goes home to King's Landing.

THREE MONTHS LATER - KING’S LANDING

“Doctor Tarth!” 

Brienne turned at the sound of her name, eyebrows drawing together at the student approaching her-- one of the ones in the introduction to Westerosi History class she’d started teaching. _Jeyne_ , she thought her name was-- one of the few close to failing the class. 

“I haven’t graduated yet, Jeyne, you can call me Brienne. In fact, you'd better before someone around her gets angry at me.” Brienne turned the rest of the way around, trying not to look reluctant as she settled her bookbag more comfortably on her shoulder if she was going to be standing there for some time. 

“Oh,” Jeyne flushed. “Sorry, I was just wondering about a question on your study guide, do you have a second?” 

She didn’t, really. She wanted to leave, to sleep-- and more than anything to stop having to talk to people. She was already bundled in her rain jacket to face the autumn storm and it was slightly too hot in the building with it on. But, she felt a bit bad for the girl-- she was probably as busy as Brienne was. If not more, _most other people had a social life_ , she thought wryly. 

“Walk with me?”

Jeyne nodded eagerly, gathering her bag from where it sat beside her and hurried after her. “Oh you’re-- yeah, thanks, I was just wondering, for something like question two would you prefer…” 

As it turned out, Jeyne had far more than one quick question and walked her most of the way off of campus, blurting out every question that came to mind and by the time they’d made it to the street, Brienne had been so delayed that she missed the bus and had to suppress a sigh, or exclamation, or something of disappointment.

At the very least, Jeyne was out of questions, but Brienne scarcely registered her profuse thanks and darting away; leaving her standing at the station, rain already starting to soak through her jacket. And she hadn’t seemed to notice anything wrong enough with Brienne to ask about it, something that had been the subject of _several_ agonizing conversations with other faculty members over the past few months. 

Brienne slumped against the wall behind her, tilting her chin upwards and closing her eyes against the pouring rain. She stayed there for a minute, checked the posted bus schedule to confirm that the thing wouldn’t be coming for another hour and then turned towards the street. 

_Walking it is, then._

She had a new apartment. 

It was a bit further from the school than before, and significantly smaller. But without the Starks and Podrick, she could afford a lot less, especially since she wasn’t working like before. She should have called the shop and asked to be scheduled; she had a few hours in the evenings most days at any rate. But the idea of actually doing so seemed too hard and made her stomach hurt. So, she hadn’t, and instead, she had moved. The money from the Lannisters would sustain her until she graduated, this way. 

On a nice day, she thought she might even have enjoyed the walk, but she was _tired._ She was always tired nowadays. 

But today was no such day; she was freezing, already soaked with a mile to go and sitting so long at her desk hunched over her dissertation had given her a throbbing headache behind the eyes. Despite the rain, she walked slowly, seemingly incapable of making herself walk any faster, and the task of climbing the four flights of stairs to her apartment seemed yet another insurmountable task. 

The apartment could really not be called that with any accuracy just a room with a small kitchen against one wall, besides the entrance to a small bathroom. Her bed was in the opposite corner, separated from the rest of the room by a tall bookshelf she’d taken from the old apartment and the curtain that used to separate Arya and Sansa’s sides of the room. The rest of the room was taken up by the living room set of dark wood and deep blue upholstery Catelyn had given them as a gift when they’d moved into the old apartment. The only other things in the apartment was the wardrobe off near her bed and the telephone on the end table. 

Well, that and the books and papers she’d left strewn around since whenever it was she’d last summoned the energy to pick up beyond doing her dishes. 

She shrugged off her jacket, draped it over one of the kitchen chairs, toed off her boots, and briefly considered cooking something for dinner. She shrugged the thought aside, and crossed to the wardrobe; her sweater, blouse, and trousers were completely sodden; so she undressed and slipped into pajamas. 

It was too early to consider going to bed, really, but the thought of doing anything else, even so much as eating dinner made her stomach turn. 

_Perhaps she was actually just getting sick,_ she thought, knowing full well that it wasn’t true. It was just what she was telling herself all of these months. Insomnia and exhaustion, headaches, nausea, if she told herself she was coming down with something, she didn’t have to do anything about the truth. 

Besides, she couldn’t go to sleep, not until Sansa called. 

So, she settled on the couch, a blanket around her shoulders to protect her neck from her wet hair and tried to read while she waited for Sansa to call. Brienne knew she would, she always did, at seven-thirty, without fail. 

It wasn’t as though Sansa had wanted to leave King’s Landing, but the university had reassigned her to a professor who worked at their branch at Highgarden in Sansa’s particular subfield; Doctor Olenna Tyrell. 

_It’s an extraordinary opportunity, yes._ Sansa had said carefully after receiving the news. _But I’ll figure something else out, I can’t just leave._

Brienne had laughed aloud at that. _You have to go._ She’d said. _Are you insane? This is miles better than Tyrion ever was and you’ll not miss it on account of my being… well, you know._

Because there was no other good way of explaining what had happened, so they’d always just said “you know”. 

And, after a few days of prodding, Sansa had agreed to it. Then Pod had been offered a job in Highgarden too, to replace the job he’d lost working for Tyrion. And Catelyn had insisted Arya enroll at Highgarden too, to be with Sansa, because she was always so nervous about them being apart from each other ‘down south’. And Brienne had stayed. 

She could’ve gone, she supposed. She couldn’t really say why she hadn’t; it was easier to do her work in King’s Landing, the resources for it were there. Which was true, but it would have been only mildly inconvenient to access them in Highgarden. And it wasn’t as though she had much of a life outside of Arya, Sansa, and Podrick before. Still, she had let them leave, withdrawn from their old apartment and moved a few neighborhoods over. To Flea Bottom, a neighborhood that was as strange and unpleasant as its name indicated. 

And Sansa called every night to check in on her. If Brienne were thinking straight, she might feel guilty that Sansa felt the need to, or embarrassed that she was clearly screwed up enough to warrant it. Instead, she was usually relieved to talk to someone, even if she steered well clear of the things she was supposed to be talking about now. 

Namely the time-traveling. There had been more information at first, from Tywin’s old archives, that Sansa interrogated out of Tyrion over the phone. It wasn’t a lot of information, but enough to get a full picture of what had happened. She and Jaime had been able to “enter” a new time, or their “abilities”, more accurately had been able to when they had been in near-death situations. Tyrion hypothesized that she must have died and been revived escaping Tarth for it to happen, but that certainly was something she wouldn’t be entertaining for a long, long while. Otherwise, the spell had played out exactly as Samwell Tarly had described it. Tywin Lannister had continued the longstanding tradition of keeping the Lannister family’s secret and trying to make it work. And Cersei had poisoned him for it-- and for trying to use her as some marriage pawn in his own ambition. Tyrion thought it was a long time coming, Brienne was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that it _was_ and that she had been mixed up in this for _decades._

Most strangely of all, in the end, it wasn’t even the thing she thought of the most. Not even by a long shot. 

Jaime had called twice, in the beginning. She’d cried both times and hadn’t been very successful in convincing him that she wasn’t crying. He hadn’t called her back since just like she knew he would eventually. She’d been bracing herself for that, long before everything had gone to shit completely and somehow that made the heartbreak a little less painful. If it were just that, she was sure she could force herself to get over it. But it wasn’t, she’d lost the only other person who might have understood all the _other_ things. 

Brienne shook her head, vaguely aware that she’d been reading words without taking any of them and that someone was knocking on the door. She wasn’t sure how long it had taken for her to realize it, but the knocking was quite urgent. 

She glanced up from her book, a bit surprised, but not unduly. She had a neighbor, Tormund, a cheerful, if not somewhat forgetful man who had a knack for forgetting his keys. Or various ingredients for a birthday cake. He was kind enough to invite her to whatever party he’d been throwing during the birthday cake incident, but she’d pulled the ‘writing-my-thesis’ card. She’d something sorely miss that when she was out of school. 

She had the time now. She always had and would have more of it after graduation. But somehow, she seemed only to want to, _to be able to_ fill the time thinking about Arianne and Galladon. 

_It’s weird,_ she told Sansa once in a singular moment of honesty, _when I saw them… in dreams or during… you know, I felt_ something, _I don’t know. Like an echo of an instinct, I guess. And all it took was Tyrion telling me there was a reason for that and I couldn’t think of anything else._

Well, she figured that that was reason enough that she wouldn’t be very fun at Tormund’s parties. 

As kind as Tormund was, she had no interest in speaking to him tonight either. She dragged herself to her feet and crossed the room, throwing the door open and belatedly realizing she should’ve checked the peep-hole. It was _not_ Tormund. It was _Jaime._ Jaime, standing on the stair landing, rain-drenched, hair slightly longer than she remembered plastered against his forehead, and staring up at her in concern, or perhaps, apprehension. 

Her breath froze in her throat for a long moment, and spilled out as: “What are _you_ doing here?” 

Jaime’s pinched expression broke into a wide smile and he lurched forward, throwing his arms around her shoulders, one sliding down to hold her around the waist. Frozen in shock, she barely remembered how to reciprocate, much less whether or not she wanted to. 

“Jaime,” She said, words muffled against his shoulder. “Jaime, what’s going on?” 

Jaime drew back a little, not letting her go, but enough so he could look her in the eyes and she could see the confusion in his. “ _I told you_ I’d see you soon,” 

Brienne felt like everything inside her lurched into her throat at once, threatening a sob that was difficult to suppress. “Gods, I-- _did you walk up all those stairs alone?”_

Jaime shrugged. “I’m a little better on my own now, didn’t have anyone helping me when I was with…” 

_Cersei._ Brienne thought with a flare of annoyance. “Y-you should come in,” 

Jaime grinned at her again and stepped through the door, dragging a rolling suitcase behind him. “Nice place,” 

“It’s no Casterly Rock,” She said, trying for wry and failing. The shock of seeing him, of him being _there_ was fading quickly and quickly being replaced by an odd ache near the center of her chest. 

Jaime pushed his suitcase against the wall, shrugged off his soaked jacket and threw it over hers, and crossed to the sofa, sitting on it heavily like he’d always lived there. Like he belonged there. “Then it’s basically perfect. Come here, I still can’t stand for too long,” 

Brienne did because she didn’t know what else to do. She sat beside him on the couch careful to put a foot’s distance between the two of them and angle herself towards him. He mirrored her position, hand moving uncertainly over his leg-- everything about him was uncertain; his silence, the way he was looking at her and then looking away. She was quite aware of how much of a mess the place was, how ill and awful she probably looked. Pretending that everything had been fine and wonderful the past few months was not a very realistic option, to say the least, humiliating as it was. 

Jaime looked _fine._ Gods, who was she kidding, he looked _great,_ as always. Uncomfortable in the moment, sure, but he didn’t seem to be having an emotional crisis either, gods damn him. 

“You look well,” She remarked. 

Jaime just nodded, quiet for a long moment before seeming to realize that she was offering him a chance to say something back. “You, uh, how are you?” 

“I’m fine,” Brienne said automatically, the ache in her chest suddenly much, _much_ worse. “Quite busy, I have three classes this semester to make up for… not doing my old job. How’s your family?” 

Jaime shook his head. “Cersei’s… hiding, in Braavos, but she’ll be fine, running the city by next month if I know her. Tyrion’s off on some other lead,” He hesitated a moment as though unsure if he should continue. “He’s on Tarth, now.” 

Brienne bit her lip and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to press down a shudder at the thought of Tyrion continuing his search _there,_ amid whatever smoking remains there still were. 

“Brienne,” He said, prompting her to open her eyes and look back at him questioningly. “I spoke with Sansa.” 

Brienne frowned. “Why?” 

“I needed your address. I tracked down Mrs. Stark first, through her, Sansa’s new address and number, and Sansa told me you were here now. I didn’t realize that’s why you wouldn’t answer the phone when I called.” 

Brienne felt a stab of guilt; when she’d moved, she hadn’t spoken to Jaime in two weeks. She’d hadn’t thought that it would matter much. “I’m sorry, I should’ve said but I didn’t have a number for you and everything happened rather quickly.” 

Jaime nodded. “Don’t apologize, it was a hard situation. But, Sansa told me you weren’t well,” 

Brienne shrugged. “She worries too much. I just need to be better about getting to bed on time.” 

He slid closer, hand reaching for hers. “I’m sorry you were alone, gods I can’t imagine. Cersei was quite annoyed with me by the third day of traveling for all the talking I did.” 

Brienne grinned. “I imagined you would, and for the best maybe, I’m finding I rather like not talking about it. Though maybe that’s just Sansa and her unflagging need to solve everyone else’s broken hearts.” 

Jaime laughed. “Don’t tell me that’s my fault, Tarth.” 

“About Sansa? I doubt it, I’ve known her far longer.” 

He gave her an exasperated look. “No, about your heart.” 

Brienne rolled her eyes. “N-no, nothing like that.” 

“Oh good, so you knew.” 

“Knew what?” Brienne’s brow furrowed and she had to resist the urge to pull her hand back, stand, walk away. A flare of embarrassment lit in her stomach at the dumb question; _knew not to be sad, probably._

“That I was going to come back. Cersei kept telling me I’d been an idiot about the whole thing and you were never going to get it.” 

“Well,” Brienne hesitated. “I am glad to see you, but I don’t-- I don’t want you to think that because you said that you have to be here. If things are different now,” 

Jaime frowned, eyes widening. “You didn’t want to see me?” 

Brienne opened her mouth to respond, and the phone rang. She jumped, almost pulling her hand from Jaime’s, stopping only by his holding it tighter. 

“It’s Sansa,” She said apologetically, remembering the long-forgotten call she’d been expecting. “I have to get it, she’ll worry,” 

She leaned over and took the receiver from the hook. “Sansa?” 

“Brienne! How was your day--” 

“I’m fine-- it was fine, can I call you tomorrow?” 

Sansa scoffed. “What are you doing?” 

“Nothing, it’s-- don’t ask a lot of questions about this, but Jaime’s here.” 

“ _What?”_ Sansa’s voice went up several octaves. “How long has he been there?” 

“Ten minutes, Sansa, I need to go,” But the line was dead by the time Brienne finished her sentence. “She hung up on me,” 

Jaime smiled ruefully, reminding her of the question he’d asked and she hadn’t responded to. He wouldn’t ask for a response, but he wanted it anyway; it was written all over his face. 

“I wasn’t avoiding the question, Jaime, she really wouldn’t have left us in peace. I’m _glad_ to see you, I _missed_ you, but I don’t want you to think that I expect you to do something, that I’ll be angry if you don’t stay around.” 

“Of course I’m staying around!” Jaime sounded affronted, his voice suddenly rather loud, which he seemed to realize and quieted again. The whole thing was rather reassuring. “Unless that’s not what you want.” 

Brienne sighed. “I just _told you_ what I wanted. But I don’t want you to feel beholden to me if your sister needs you, or if you need to go home.” 

Jaime let go of her hand, lifting his to her neck and pulling her in, so fast she barely had time to register. He kissed her, firmly but quickly before drawing away enough to look at her. She wasn’t sure if it was the kiss or the sharp sort of look in his eyes but she rather wanted to shiver. 

“I’m staying, I’m with you,” He said firmly, his voice almost a whisper. “Besides my father’s siblings have moved in to care for the place and we’ve never gotten on well,” 

The ache lurched into her throat and she drew in a sharp gasp that turned into a sob she couldn’t hold back. Jaime’s eyes widened, and his arm slipped over her shoulder, drawing her close; his right arm wrapped around her waist and his fingers played with the damp strands of hair hanging down her back. 

“Oh gods, I’m so sorry,” 

“It’s not your fault,” she muttered. “I’m not upset about that, I promise.” 

He hushed her, settling back against the couch, pulling her with him so she was lying back too. “I know, I know,” 

Her lip ached where she bit down on it and the breath she drew in to calm herself searing in her throat. “It’s pretty stupid,” 

She couldn’t see his face but she could feel the laughter vibrating in his chest, a wry, sad sort of sound when it met the air. 

“It’s definitely not stupid,” 

She drew in another breath, bracing herself to speak, willing her voice to be steady. “The children, I can’t stop thinking about it. And I can’t even remember anything so it’s just,” She paused, “It’s stupid,” 

Jaime didn’t say anything for a long time, so long that she was worried he was building up to agree with her, or tell her off for saying it. She drew back to look at him to see that he was struggling to hold back tears of his own. 

“Oh, Jaime…” She brushed at the tears under his eyes. “I shouldn’t have,” 

His arms came up around her back, pressing her against his chest, fiercely. “I’ve been thinking the same, Cersei told me I was being dramatic and maybe…”

Brienne laughed. “Maybe we are.” 

“I don’t think you have it in you to be dramatic,” Jaime muttered, voice thick even as he tried to tease her. She buried her face in the space between his neck and shoulder, throwing an arm around his waist and pulling him closer. 

“It’s not even as though I _miss_ them, not really, I don’t know nearly enough for that. I’m just,” 

“Sad,” Jaime agreed, and then continued after a long moment. “I’m sad too,” 

She lapsed into silence and he didn’t continue either, for so long that she began to drift out of consciousness. For once as her eyes grew heavy, the heaviness in her chest was beginning to let up and she felt just a little bit better. It wasn’t that Jaime had or could fix everything, she wouldn’t tell him or herself that. But at least there was someone else to be less than _fine_ about the whole thing with. 

“Brienne, don’t go to sleep,” He shook her shoulder. “Come on,” 

Brienne cracked her eyes open and peered up at him. “Sorry, I’m being a terrible host,” 

Jaime laughed. “You’re exhausted, come on, let’s get you to bed,” 

She unfolded herself and sat up; the room had darkened around them, lit only by the lamp she’d had on by the telephone. 

Jaime pulled her to her feet and pushed her gently towards her bed. Absentmindedly she turned down the covers and arranged her pillows before looking behind her to see Jaime across the apartment, hand on his suitcase. 

“Do you have a hotel?” She asked, failing to conceal her surprise. 

Jaime shook his head, a nervous look dawning on his face. “No, I didn’t think about…” 

Brienne waved him aside. “Nor should you have, you’ll stay here so long as that works for you.” 

Jaime smiled and began to drag the suitcase across the room., depositing it on the floor beside the wardrobe. She made a point not to look, busying herself with settling down and shifting the pillows again to be more suitable for two people, as he changed. Though it was useless; the moment he slipped under the covers with her, he was moving onto her side of the bed, dragging them closer together until they shared the same pillow. Not that she fought him on it. 

“What happened in Braavos?” 

Jaime groaned, pulling her closer to him. “Nothing exciting, it took us nearly a month to get there, and twice that long to get money and get her settled down. I’ll be sending her money from the will,” 

“Aren’t you worried about her?” 

Jaime laughed. “Like I said, she’ll be running the place soon enough, it’s what she’s always done. And it’s not as though she didn’t bring it upon herself.” 

“Still, I’m sorry she got dragged into it,” 

“Don’t,” Jaime said, his voice losing its lightness, turning stormy and dark. “Not about her,” 

Brienne nodded. “Okay,” 

His fingers brushed the underside of her chin, prompting her to look up at him. “Don’t worry about any of them,” 

“Goodnight, Jaime,” 

He tilted his chin up, arching a little to kiss her forehead. “Goodnight, Brienne,” 

THREE MORE MONTHS LATER

“Thank you,” Brienne set aside her notecards and turned towards Margaery, sitting in the chair near her bookshelf and pressed her hands together. “How was it?” 

Margaery beamed. “I think it’s ready, but then again I’ve never defended a dissertation, but I've heard enough of my grandmother criticizing other peoples’ to know what to look for,” 

Brienne nodded, vaguely wondering if she’d heard Sansa’s, if they’d even seen each other while Sansa was at Highgarden. It would be weird to ask, she thought,it was probably weird to be hanging around with your sibling’s ex in general. But there was only so many times Jaime could withstand listening to it and she didn’t want to bother the other professors too much. 

As the day drew nearer and nearer, she found herself missing Tyrion more, which was stupid because every time she realized she was, she began to wonder if the whole thing wasn’t some fluke. She only got in with Tyrion because he needed her to fulfill whatever he was doing and if he hadn’t needed her, she wouldn’t have made it this far. 

Everyone who _knew_ disagreed with her on that front, because of course they did, but still, she wasn’t sure she could do it. 

Margaery laughed. “Brienne, you’ve put everything you have into this presentation and you still have, what? Another month to worry about it? Just do the presentation for your advisor tomorrow, I’m sure he’ll say the same thing as me.” 

Brienne offered her a weak smile, settling back in her desk chair. 

“No, no, no, no,” Margaery shot up and grabbed Brienne’s arm, trying to drag her up again. “You aren’t sitting back down to do more work right now, not when Jaime Lannister is sitting around, twiddling his thumbs until you come home,” 

Brienne scoffed. “He’s gotten a job, and anyway, we’re _not_ going to talk about this,” 

“Why? Because your sister broke up with me?” 

Brienne sighed, _other way around,_ she thoughtbut bit it back; Margaery was nice and Sansa would probably understand if they reconnected, her objection was different entirely. “Something like that,” 

Margaery shrugged and turned towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, for more strictly professional conversation, I’m sure. But I maintain, I think screwing Lannister would help you forget the presentation,” 

“ _Thank you,_ Margaery,” Brienne turned away to hide the blush that never failed to show up no matter how many people made jokes, and gathered her jacket and briefcase. When she turned back, Margaery had disappeared somewhere into the dark, winding corridors. _Gods, she had stayed late._

She hurried out of the building, breaking into a near sprint as she neared the bus station. The evening bus was still at the station and she just managed dash up the stairs, nearly colliding with the handrail. 

It was raining, she had scarcely noticed on the run across campus, but stray hairs were plastered to her forehead and water was dripping down her face and into her eyes. 

_Wonderful._

Brienne slumped into a seat, pointedly staring at the boards under her feet rather than the person sitting in front of her, not wanting the probably-shocked look on their face.

“I’m glad to see you,” 

Her head snapped up and her heart stuttered in her chest. _Tyrion._ Tyrion sat across from her, gods how had she not noticed? He was as distinctive in a crowd as she was, most of the time. 

He had a large box, like a shoebox on his lap, his hands clasped on top of it. 

She looked away, trying to calm her breathing staring at the golden street lights passing in a vague blur through the rain-drenched windows. “ _Tyrion,_ I can’t say the same,” 

“I thought I was helping you, it wasn’t exactly a big secret that you never got over Tarth,” 

“And what? You wanted me to feel better about it because if it hadn’t happened, the spell wouldn’t have happened to me? I did wonder if your father orchestrated the whole thing and it went too far, I wouldn’t put it past you,” Brienne spoke in a low voice, not really sure if Tyrion could even hear her, or if it was wise to be saying aloud, but unable to stop the words from spilling out. 

Tyrion laughed dryly. “In the best way I can mean this, I don’t think my father gave a shit about if you ever showed up, he just got it in his head based on his damn records that Jaime was the right one and _eventually_ it would work, and for once in his life, he got something right,” 

Brienne didn’t look back at him, eyes fixed on the passing shops. “That doesn’t make it better,” 

“I know,” Tyrion said, voice heavy. Brienne was surprised to find that she actually believe he felt _something,_ sadness or remorse for what he’d done. 

“Why are you here?” 

Tyrion was quiet for a long time before taking a deep breath and beginning to speak. “Jaime called when I was on Tarth. He asked a favor and I’m here to fulfill it. Also, I wanted to apologize, and wish you luck on your defense. You’re going to do well.” 

Brienne looked over at him at last and nodded. “Are you coming to see Jaime then?”

Tyrion shook his head. “We’re not there yet, I’m not sure if we ever will be,” 

“And you think we will be?”

Tyrion shook his head. “I’m not hopeful, but you’re also not Jaime.” 

Brienne nodded again, unsure of what else to do. “Then what’s the favor?” 

Tyrion offered the box to her. “This is what he wanted, I hope… I hope it will help you too.” 

Brienne took the box, looking around, hesitantly. With the box in her hand, she was beginning to feel suspicious. It wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t light, something fell over or slid around inside when she moved the box. 

“It’s not cursed too, is it?” 

Tyrion smiled wryly and shook his head. “No, nothing like that.” 

The brakes of the bus screeched and hissed, drawing her back to her surroundings and Tyrion seemed to do the same, drawing back and sliding off the seat. 

“Good luck, Brienne, I’ll not hope to see you around,” 

Brienne nearly missed her stop for being in such a daze and the walk from the station didn’t improve her mood. The rain had gotten heavier and the box Tyrion had foisted upon her was unwieldy and difficult to protect from the rain, and even harder to balance with the bookbag on her shoulder. She fumbled the lock getting into her building and then the one getting into her apartment within the span of a few minutes, finally throwing the door open with a loud _bang._

“You’re back!” Jaime was standing in the small kitchen, gathering plates from the cabinet gingerly. Brienne was relieved to note that it didn’t smell like anything was burning, it was roughly a weekly occurrence since Jaime had insisted on taking over cooking dinner when she was running late, and often even if she wasn’t. Which would be the decent thing to do for any roommate, she supposed, but his general lack of experience and his dominant hand made it something of a struggle. 

He set the plates aside and walked over to her, kissing her quickly on the cheek and taking the box from her. 

“I was getting worried,” 

Brienne’s stomach twisted a little, remembering about Tyrion. “I stayed late with Margaery to practice,” She bit her lip and looked away, her voice dropping considerably. “And I saw Tyrion on my way home,” 

Jaime set the box aside and turned back towards her with a look of alarm. “Did you say _Tyrion?”_

Brienne nodded at the box. “He gave me that, for you,” 

Jaime wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. “I didn’t think he would do _that,_ gods, I am so sorry about him.” 

Brienne pulled away a little to look back at him. “I’m fine, I think, honestly. Perhaps a little confused.” 

Jaime gave her a long look. “He told you I called him then,” 

Brienne nodded and noted how apologetic he looked. “You don’t have to explain,” Brienne started. “You were always so important to him, you two, were… close.” 

_And Tyrion doesn’t think there’s a chance of that happening again,_ she thought but didn’t see fit to bring up. 

Jaime shook his head. “He has access to my father’s old archives on the whole thing, I needed to know if there was anything that might be about our old lives,” 

Brienne twisted in his arms, reaching towards the box, suddenly breathless. “Oh gods, and this is…”   
  


Jaime appeared behind her, hand reaching around her to flip open the top of the box. Instead were a dozen or so black-leather bound books affixed with numbered labelving stickers, the kind designed to not damage old texts. Atop, there was a note from Tyrion. 

_Our records have never been public, but these are journals kept by Lady Brienne throughout her life and taken by the Lannisters following her death. There’s more information where these came from, but I thought you’d appreciate these most._

_Tyrion._

Brienne drew in a sharp breath. “They’re _mine,”_

Jaime’s hand wrapped around the top of her arm, his chin pressing into her shoulder. “Seems we’ve found your new distraction from school,” 

Brienne gave him a smile that she was sure was soft and ridiculous and pretended for a moment that school was the biggest problem on her mind. “Oh, for sure,” 

Jaime’s own smile was bright and tinged with a little sadness. “I’ll finish getting dinner ready, do you want to read to me?” 

“You read my mind,” Brienne said wryly, pressing her forehead against his temple. 

“I love you,” Jaime mumbled, seemingly for no reason, and the ever-present knot in her chest undid itself a little further. 

Brienne kissed him then pushed him away, settling in front of the box of journals, drawing out the one marked with the number ‘one’. Jaime turned back to the kitchen, Brienne settled back in her chair and began to read: 

  
“ _I wish Father would write and summon me home, I long to be home again, and Storm’s End has little to offer besides endless grey rocks. Today, I swear, I met the most infuriating man I’ve ever had the misfortune of coming across….”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't get the change to post extra stuff for JB week because school's been the Worst™, so here's the final chapter of this fic to celebrate the ending! Thank you to everyone who read, kudos'd, and commented <3 See you next time!   
> -B


End file.
